Dangerous Skills
by older-love
Summary: Robin/OC: Robin immediately falls for a girl working for Slade. But when the Titans finally catch her, can they convince her to turn good and help them take down Slade? Better than it sounds. First time posting. Not sure where its going. M for later.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Robin/OC, may not even want to bother. I may end up taking it down in the end. But I hope you like it anyway :). First time posting, so please, be gentle.**

****

Robin sat upon his bed, one hand behind his head, the other clasping a small trinket. His mind was a few miles away from the Tower and deep into the city, downtown. There were brief flashes of locations along the streets; banks, jewelers, museums, technology centers, labs, etc. Each time the building would burst into his brain, pristine and in one piece, it would immediately melt away into the wreck he knew it to be now. Broken windows, shattered doors, splintered walls, and missing inventory made up the new and not-so-improved areas. The reason for these changes was not lost on him; he knew the exact cause. It was the ruthless ransacking of the locations, thanks to the fresh criminal that sprouted up about two weeks ago.

He wasn't sure of her name, but he knew she was a girl. He'd seen her many times before, mostly with her small hand gripping a huge diamond or precious artifact or high-tech invention. At first, she'd seemed very petty; robbing banks for cash and stealing gems. Robin had never been able to understand why she was too much for the police to handle. That is, until he had to face her.

The first time he had to actually do battle with her, the team had been called in to a technology laboratory. They'd been chasing her for a while, but always arriving too late. This time, they'd catch her in the act. The location was a tall building on the outskirts of town with dark walls, tinted bullet-proof glass windows, and intense security. The place housed hundreds of brand-new inventions, most of them weapons; dangerous guns and lasers lined the bright white paneling of the inside rooms. The inventory was very risky, very new, very untested, and very valuable. But no one could break in. Security around the place was flawless, with pass-keys and fingerprints needed to go traditionally through a door. Bulky, incredibly strong men patrolled the halls and around the building, lethal guns strapped around their torsos.

And yet, somehow, someone managed to outdo them and make it into the sanctuary.

When the Titans arrived, they snuck around the corridors, following a map that had been programmed into their communicators. Finally, they entered the room where the crime had been committed, and there she stood. Robin could remember clearly the fiery feelings that ran through him when his eyes met hers.

She was rather short, around five feet, three inches. Her body was clearly accentuated in her full-body skin-tight cat suit, and it was nearly an hourglass figure. Her chest was a bit small, and her hips a bit big, but her waist was tiny and her legs were long. The soft gold of her hair shimmered beneath the blinding lights in the ceiling, natural blond highlights practically reflective and layers framing her round face beautifully. Her pixie nose sat in the center of her face, just above her thin lips and in between her rosy cheeks. Her skin was a soft, tan cream (if that makes sense), and her chocolate eyes shone brighter than anything in the city.

Robin couldn't pull the strength he needed to attack her. His limbs simply froze. It was as if her gaze held him tightly in a fist, and he had no wish to move. His masked eyes wondered at hers, and at her beauty in general. She was nothing like the alien beauty that Starfire possessed, nor the exotic beauty of Raven. Hers was her own. For some reason, it struck him as strange that she should look humanly gorgeous.

The other Titans had attempted to bring her down, but as Robin could see, they were simply no match. She was an expert fighter, probably better than him. The way she controlled her body was clearly unmatched by anyone. She looked graceful as she punched and kicked his friends, her movements as fluid as water. Neither member of the team had a prayer. Through Cyborg's witty comments and Raven's centering chants, she absolutely mauled them, tossing each of them around like a rag doll. The girl had no incredible power, no extreme talent. She was just a master at—what looked like—karate.

She round-house kicked Beast Boy across the room, and then reached into the glass case in the center of the space, snatching up a small, gun-like trinket. Robin knew better than to think it was a mere gun; it was a Turbo-Blaster, very unstable and brand new. She tucked it away into her body-suit, turned, and halted in her tracks. He assumed she must've been shocked to see him still standing. But he couldn't move. He was having a hard time simply breathing and thinking straight. He was doomed if she attacked.

But she didn't. She merely blinked twice, turned, jumped up onto the broken glass case, and leapt up to the ceiling, where she seemed to have made her entrance. Just before her glorious face had disappeared into the perfectly square hole, he saw her features contort into a grimace of pain, and her fingers flicked up and touched her ear. Her chest grated against the edges of the opening, and something small and metal fell off of her uniform and clattered to the floor. She hadn't even seemed to notice.

What had fallen off of her suit was what was clutched in Robin's green-gloved hand now. Hidden behind his black and white mask, he stared at the sharp-edged S in his palm. It was obvious; it was a clear marking of Slade. Robin himself had worn a uniform with the same emblem. When he thought of that gorgeous girl being within five hundred feet of Slade, he winced, and the metal piece almost burned against his fingers.

But what he really wanted to know was why. Why was she working with Slade? How had it come about? Was it by choice or force? And, Jesus, what was her name? How could he immediately be taken by an enemy?

Then, the alarm began to wail.

With one last pensive glance at the S, he tossed the trinket onto the evidence table, leapt off his bed, and darted out the door.

When Robin entered the main room, Beast Boy was already at the computer keys, clacking away, brow furrowed as he stared up at the massive "screen."

"What do you have?" Robin asked, bounding down the steps and hopping over the couch. The green boy didn't answer right away. He continued to gaze at the map of the city and the blinking red light that indicated where the call came from. Robin began to grow anxious and angry with the hold up. Just as he was about to smack him, Beast Boy slowly turned to him.

"It's her," he whispered. The low swoosh of the doors indicated that Starfire, Raven, and Cyborg had joined them.

Robin couldn't move for a moment. His mind received a shock of numbness at the simple words. The two syllable sentence shouldn't have that much effect on him. His knees shouldn't go weak, and he shouldn't have been feeling a strange mixture of joy and dread. But against his will, his happiness won out over the aversion, and suddenly he was eager to get on with the mission.

"Oh, it is that girl," Starfire sighed hatefully. The malevolence in her voice was clear; she was definitely jealous. But Robin had no time for her. He had a strange and urgent need to look in a mirror.

"Let's go, Titans," he commanded, turning to leave. "We have a job to do." Cyborg stepped aside for him, and then followed with Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy close behind.

*

"Alright, Titans," Robin said very business-like as they all sped along toward the location of the chemical laboratory. "Let's not forget what she did last time. She's a formidable opponent. We need to stay focused, and fight hard. Beast Boy, I don't want to hear anything about her being a girl. I don't care. She's a criminal and get's no special treatment."

"Maybe we could win this time if you'd quit ogling at her," Cyborg muttered in his T-Car. Clearly, the comment was meant for himself, but it had seeped through the communicator and met Robin's ear.

"I heard that," the masked boy snapped, but he didn't argue it. He knew it was true.

"Hey," Cyborg backpedaled. "I never said she wasn't hot. I-I mean, I'd ogle too, if I was you, man. I'm not sayin' I was oglin', or even lookin', I was—I was fighting her and…just happened to notice…" he trailed off, realizing that the more he spoke, the worse it got. Finally, he settled on, "Let's just go kick her butt."

It was quiet the rest of the way there. Robin took the time to mentally prep himself. He couldn't let her do that to him again. She wouldn't get away this time.

With a squeal, he brought his motorcycle to a stop. He slid his helmet off of his night black hair and subtly ran his fingers through it, both hoping to make sure it looked good and hide it from his team that he wanted it to look good in the first place. A slam of a door said that Cyborg was ready to go, and the soft scuffing sound of shoes on the pavement meant that Starfire and Raven had grounded themselves. Beast Boy came padding up in the form of a cheetah, his hackles sticking straight up. He still hadn't forgiven the girl for making him look bad, and he was totally not into losing to a girl. He was more determined than Robin to take her down.

They all sprinted to the building, and Robin kicked the door open.

"Freeze!" he roared, sliding his metal rod out of his utility belt. He nearly dropped it when his eyes met the person in the middle of the room.

It was her, no doubt about it. Her incredible eyes popped wide at the outburst, and her hand tightened protectively around the vile of neon green fluid she carried. It seemed she had been walking casually, about to stroll right out the front door. Her uniform was the same, except she had a utility belt of her own. Another S sat proudly atop her chest, right over her heart; Slade must've replaced it. Her silky golden hair still hung freely about her, short bangs flopping over her brow but the full length extending to her mid-back.

_No!_ Robin's brain hissed. _Stop thinking like that! She's a criminal, damnit, not some girl you can go hit on! Get your ass in gear! _

"Titans, GO!" he yelled, and twirled the rod in his hands. This time, he was the first one to launch at her, sending the metal toward her perfect face. Shock colored her features, but she threw her hands up in front of her nose, catching the weapon before it made contact. She gripped it, whipped it around and tossed it away. Robin had refused to let go, so she ended up throwing him with it. He slid along the floor comfortably, not finding the strength to go after her again. He just needed a small rest to collect his thoughts.

But, as the scene evolved, he knew he'd have to take action soon. It was almost as if he was looking in a female version of himself. The way she spun and flipped, kicked and punched, jumped and dodged was even better than the last time. He didn't even have time to see her tuck the vile in her belt before her limbs were a blur. It was almost hypnotizing.

When she kicked Starfire over the security counter and into the wall before she could get out another round of starbolts, Robin knew he had to act, and act now. His protected hand gripped his long, metal rod again, and he shoved himself to his feet. The girl looked to him, and her dark eyes widened once more. But he didn't let their deep depths distract him; he kept his mind on the need to take her down. He began to advance upon her, running.

She started to back up quickly, nearly stumbling over her feet. Once again, she cringed, and her fingers flew up to her ear. The second she did that, he knew what was wrong; she was wearing an earpiece. Slade must be yelling at her through the plastic hearing device. He could almost hear his deadly calm voice, commanding her to take him down.

But why wouldn't she do it? Why was she holding back?

The girl gritted her teeth, and made her escape through the ceiling once again. He'd have to remember that she's done that twice, but suddenly recalled what he'd been dying to ask her just as she disappeared into the paneling.

"Wait!" he called. "Wait! What's your name?" Robin knew he could've stopped her. He knew that all he had to do was take out one of his gadgets; any one would do. But something stopped him, and it was growing increasingly frustrating to be around her. She was always committing a crime, and he could never bring himself to take her down.

Her incredible head poked out of the hole, glossy hair hanging upside down from the top of her scalp.

"Bailey," she said in a chiming voice, then offered him a small smile before receding once more.

"Bailey," Robin whispered, tasting the name as it rolled off his tongue. He liked it.

****

**A/N: More?**

**Hate it? Should I be shot for even thinking of it? I know, it sucks, but it gets better, I hope! I know it was short and stuff, but I think I can make next chapters longer, if you even want them.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while, though I bet you don't really care. I didn't realize how long it had really been. I'm going to vary the point of views, 'kay? So work with me, please.**

* * * *

My head was spinning. The room was spinning. The world was spinning. Everything was spinning. I wanted it to stop, but the wish was pointless. It would never stop spinning. Nothing would ever stop spinning. I would always be tumbling down in spiraling darkness, swallowed by evil and despair.

All thanks to the man that stood over me now.

"Get up," he commanded coldly, his hand balling into a fist. I tried to get up; I really did. It was my natural response to him now—do what he says, and I may just live. My skinny arms pushed against the icy floor, but my cheek just wouldn't lift up. The muscles in my legs flexed in an attempt to move, but they just would not obey.

"Slade," I whimpered. "I can't—"

_SMACK! _I went skidding across the room, my face gliding along the stone. The small pebbles that gathered in between the cracks lashed at my skin, and the small nicks began to sting a bit, but that wasn't my concern. That was gentle compared to what Slade could—and would—do to me. I had to get up. There was no other choice. With a grating groan, I pulled all the strength I had together and forced my limbs to do my bidding. Slowly, I struggled to my feet, swaying all the time.

"That's my girl," Slade cooed from across the room. The complement added extra fire to me. Say what you like about him; Slade was an incredible tutor. He had the perfect mix of discipline, force, and encouragement, just the right amount to really get you burning. I was suddenly dying to have him lunge at me, to have him attack me.

"You want me to strike, don't you?" he asked. I nodded vigorously, crouching into a defensive position, ignoring the screaming in my thighs.

"Very well," he said, and started leisurely toward me. My eyes raced over his entire figure, absorbing every possible detail. His strongest leg seemed to be his right this time, considering he pushed harder off of that side as he approached me, and his left fingers just twitched, and his breathing was quickening. He'd attack soon, I knew it.

These were the kinds of things he taught me to read. I'm telling you, the man was a genius. Sure, he was slightly psychotic, but a great teacher nonetheless.

I saw the right kick coming. My left forearm flew up to catch the blow. I also expected the followup uppercut with his left hand, so I stifled that in my right palm. But Slade wasted no time in finishing me off; he spun on the leg planted to the ground, whipping me over his back and sending me flying through the air. Again. And I made a sickening thud as I connected with the stone floor. Again. But I was dead silent. He always taught me that noise was weakness. Even crying out when you're about to strike shows your opponent that you are vulnerable.

I begged my appendages to lift me up. I pleaded with them to do my bidding. But they would have nothing of the sort. With all my might, I heaved with my arms as I tried to push myself into the air once more, but I just flopped back down again. Stupid human limitations. There was so much that I couldn't do, so many things quelling my potential. Like pain. Like exhaustion. Like thirst and hunger and emotions. All so human, and all so inhibiting.

Footsteps lightly echoed around me as I continuously tried to get myself up.

"That is enough for today, Bailey," Slade assuaged, kneeling down to place a hand atop my head. "Rest, my child. We can always work tomorrow." He pulled his large fingers through my tendrils, then stood and walked toward the exit of the dimly-lit training room. But when he reached the doorway, he paused.

"Oh, by the way," he called over his shoulder. "How shall you be taking your punishment for disobedience tonight?"

I sighed quietly in to the rock beneath my nose. "Whichever way you desire, Master," I mumbled.

He chuckled lightly.

"Indeed," he answered. "Such a good apprentice." And he left. But I didn't move. I just lay where I was for the moment, getting a head start on relishing the few hours I had before my punishment. The usual disgust and fear quivered in my tummy, but I quickly quieted them. Apprentices did not squirm. Apprentices did not shy away. Apprentices did their master's bidding.

Apprentices took it in the ass if they needed to.

Ah, the joys of being an apprentice.

*

I quietly lay sprawled across my bed, letting my mind wander wherever it may've taken me. Of course, it found its way to the same place it had for the past few nights, which was the topic of a certain raven-haired, be-masked boy. Why Robin had been frequenting my thoughts lately was beyond me. He was a Titan. No way would Slade's apprentice be fraternizing with the enemy. And if a regular Titan was an enemy, Robin was an ultra-enemy, like the enemy of my enemy's enemy, which was a SUPER-ultra-enemy.

So yeah, basically, he was off limits…but that didn't mean I couldn't fantasize about him, did it?

Okay, so he was hot. Big deal! Slade was hot, too, and I didn't give a rat's ass about him. Common sense told me that that was because he was my mentor, my educator, my care-taker. But he was still attractive. So if I didn't like Slade because he was my teacher, why could I like Robin? He was my foe. In fact, he was the foe of the one closest to me. I was destined to defeat him, to bring him to his knees!

So why couldn't I stop thinking about him pressing his lips against mine?

Maybe it was his body…his damn hot body. That rock solid core, those strong arms, those muscley legs…boy, was he hot! And he wore spandex. Need any more be said? Actually, there was one more thing to be said. He wore a cape. Spandex and a cape and a mask. Seriously, does it get any better? I think not.

But it didn't matter. He was so fucking off limits, it wasn't even funny. Just thinking about it should've earned me twenty lashes, or maybe an hour long ice bath, or perhaps a day of fasting. Slade would've come up with something appropriate, I'm sure. He didn't really like seeing me thinking of boys. Moreover, he didn't like seeing me on the same planet as boys. Protective old man…I couldn't thank him enough for taking me in. I was alone. No one wanted me, no one wanted anything to do with me. An orphan? That's one word you could use. But it felt so much worse. Everything felt so much worse....

Wait, where was I? Oh yes, Robin…Robin…wait NO! No thinking of Robin. Bad Bailey, bad!

My door slid open with a quiet _whoosh_. It was no secret who it was; only two people lived in the whole place, me included. Only my eyes flicked over to him. The rest of me stayed still.

"You are to respond to me," he commanded as he strode into my room. "Understood?" A knot looped itself in my throat. It'd been about a week before he made me respond to him, and I hadn't exactly liked it last time. He sure did. But it was…easier for me to just lay there and take it.

"Yes Master," I mumbled quietly. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but white short-shorts and a skin-tight black camisole, the whole outfit so exposing and flirtatious.

And worst of all, I could tell he liked it.

The foot of my expansive bed sank beneath his weight as he kneeled on the blood red comforter. A soft click told me that he had removed his mask, and with tentative eyes, I gazed up at him. Perfectly messy, snow-white hair capped his head in a shock of brilliance, and his good eye shone blue and bright. My attention snapped elsewhere, desperate for a distraction. But the hand that clasped my cheek seized my focus.

"Good girl," he whispered, and then Slade's lips met mine. Reluctance washed through me, but a small twinge of excitement jumped in the pit of my stomach. Though it was abruptly shot down, I couldn't deny that it had been there. Not only did it worry me more than it should, but it made more sense than it should have also.

I had no choice; I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He twitched a bit on top of me, and his hands found their way to my waist. As he slid his fingers into the waistline of my shorts, he turned his head to the side and allowed his tongue to slip between my lips.

What…what the hell was that? Something just burned through my veins. It was like…like a flame, something straight from the hearth. Goosebumps followed its wake, trailing along my skin and sending a shudder tumbling down my spine. My hips flicked upward the tiniest bit; it was barely noticeable at all.

Well, unnoticeable to anyone but him.

"Oh, what was that?" Slade breathed into my ear as he played with the line of my underwear. "Perhaps you're more interested in responding than you're willing to admit?" Shut up Slade. Please, shut up. Stop it. My hand dropped from his neck and gently brushed his crotch, so tantalizingly soft. He gasped, attacking my lips once again.

_No, Bailey, no_, I growled in my head. _You_ don't_ like it. You hear me? You_ don't _like it. Don't. Don't. Do—_

Slade tugged both my shorts and my underwear down my thighs and used his foot to guide them, tossing them to the floor once they'd cleared my toes. There I lay, nether region completely exposed, vulnerable. To be honest, I was terribly shy; even though this had happened multiple times before, a blush still burned through my face as his palms danced along the outsides of my thighs. But this was bad. This was bad. Damn it, Bailey, this was bad! Bad, bad, bad! Had I lost it? Was I insane?

Okay, so I already knew I was insane. I'd willingly become Slade's apprentice, his bitch. _The_ Slade. He was feared everywhere, especially in the villain community. No one dared move in on his territory, no one dared look at him funny if they looked at him at all, no one even spoke more than two words to him. It was too dangerous. He was too dangerous. Breathe at the wrong time, and they could lose their lives. The man had had freaking demonstrations, for crying out loud! Slitting throats, cracking necks, breaking backs, bashing skulls—he'd done it all. All to display his power, his strength. He was always in control.

And here he was, about to screw me, his bitch. His 17-year-old bitch.

Remind me how we got in this situation again?

*

Disobedience. That's what he'd called it. Disobedience. And I had. I had disobeyed him. They were still alive. All five of them were still alive. I could've taken them down easily; they had so many weak points, so many vulnerabilities that they didn't even know about. They emanated weakness. I could taste it in the air when I was near them. And yet their hearts still beat, their muscles still flexed, their ligaments and joints still responded to their central commands, so sinewy and joined as one.

But I couldn't. I simply couldn't. They were his. He was theirs. How could I destroy that? How could I break apart their bond, thus breaking apart his heart? I couldn't. I simply couldn't. His stance made it clear; he would defend them at all costs. They were his. He was theirs. But mostly, they were his.

I wanted that. I wanted his back to arch, his hips to tilt, his arms to twitch in such a way that, even to the untrained eye, it would be clear that I belonged to him. It would be clear that we were joined, we were one, we were together. I wanted anyone to be able to see the pain in our eyes when we had to separate. I wanted our desire, our lust, our love to be tangible, to be breathable, to be touchable. I wanted our chemistry to be so blatant, you could take a picture of it.

Jesus, I'd gone soft.

My chest still heaved, even though he'd left ten minutes ago. I have to admit, it got better and better. He'd stolen my virginity, but I wasn't too bent out of shape about that; it wasn't exactly something I really needed. All that shit about "waiting for the right person" couldn't possibly be correct. But it didn't hurt as much anymore. The more he did it, the less painful burning there was, and the more pleasurable burning came to me. I didn't like that. I didn't like that I kind of liked it, however briefly. Slade wasn't a lover. Slade was a killer. Slade was a cold-blooded murderer and a psycho by anyone's definition.

As was I. I understood him. I was Slade's child. If he was a teenage girl, I would be him. We didn't look much alike; I was gold-haired, brown-eyed, while he was snowy-haired and blue-eyed. Okay, so we didn't look alike at all. But our entity was the same. Our personalities were the same, though I wasn't as cold yet and had shreds of a sense of humor. We were always on the same page, no matter what. For some reason, the minute I began to be trained by him, we just fell into sync.

With a moan, I slid out of bed and padded over to my small dresser. My hips seemed to creak and groan with the motions, but I forgot them. The minor side effects were nothing. I still hadn't finished my day's work. Skillfully, I yanked back on my white short-shorts and black camisole, and began to stretch.

Stretching was my favorite part of the training. It was so calming, so completing, to hear my muscles pop and release. Tension melted from my body within seconds, filling me with serenity and peacefulness. It was really a wonderful sensation. Now I understood the hype over yoga; once you got flexible enough, it actually was centering. I couldn't live if I didn't stretch. It was my go-to thing to calm down, to make me concentrate, to make me focused.

I dug my heel into the carpet and stretched my other leg out directly behind it and allowed myself to fall into a split. The fabric of my shorts dug into my skin, but that was the only discomfort. With little effort, I stretched forward and grasped the arch of my foot.

In the quiet, my mind wandered. It wandered every which way; Christmas was approaching, a snow storm was on its way, I saw a box of free puppies in the street today that I wanted to pick up (I'd probably end up going back soon to, in fact, retrieve them), Red X gave me his number today, after which I punched him in the face but still added him to my contacts, all sorts of things. But, of course, it decided to settle on the Forbidden Fruit.

My God, his hair was gorgeous. I'd never seen tendrils so silky and full, no matter if they were spikey or not. Actually, the spike was sexy. It made him edgy-looking. Edgy was sexy, but if he wore guy-liner, I would never even look at him again. But still, I wondered what he wore as street-clothes. Did he own street-clothes? He couldn't be a Titan all the time…could he? Was that possible? I couldn't live without my night out. I got to do whatever I want one night a week, any night that Slade didn't have anything planned for me. It was glorious; the city had some pretty sexy clubs and some pretty sexy men. Maybe Robin and I could head over to that club on Main Street. They had random poles smattered across the main room. I could show him a thing or two, maybe get him excited enough…

Okay. I know you're going to be shocked by this, but I was not a whore. I just liked to play around a bit. Was that so wrong?

There was a gentle buzzing noise coming from my bed. I hopped to my feet and dove directly onto the comforter—a fair jump I would say. Just as I stuck the landing (landing on my butt counts, right?), my cell ceased to shake. My thumb quickly flicked it open, revealing the keypad and bright white screen.

**New Text Message: Red X**

What? How did that tool get my number? The bitch gave me his—I never gave him mine. Angrily, I slammed the OKAY button and opened the message.

Hey babe. What's shaking?

Wow. He was…he was really cool. Just really, really awesome. The only person I'd heard use "babe" and "what's shaking" in the same breath was an old man at the pizzeria.

_You creep. How the hell did you get my number?_ I typed back, a pout masking my face. It didn't take long after I'd sent it to get a reply.

_Let's just say that not only am I a great pick pocket, but you really shouldn't keep your cell in your utility belt._

Ugh, what a disgusting piece of scum.

_Fine. So you have my number. What do you want?_

_You are not a very polite person._

_Is there a polite way to say fuck off? I didn't think so._

_Come on, baby, don't be like that. _

_If you'd leave me alone, I wouldn't need to be like that._

_Why? Is Sladey-poo watching over your shoulder?_

…the hell is that supposed to mean? Who did this masked loser that could do flippy, fancy tricks think he was? Hmm…that sounded like someone else, didn't it?

_What the fuck does that mean?_ I tapped furiously. I was pretty sure it was his sole mission to piss me off. My temper wasn't that great to start with, but with him testing it like this, shit was about to go down. That would be interesting, wouldn't it? Two criminals going at it. Villains didn't usually attack each other; we pretty much just co-existed, both fighting for the same thing. Of course, when it came to things we wanted, we would totally go to death over it. But usually, we were generally civil toward each other. I swore to God, if this fucker kept this shit up, I would be all over him in seconds.

_Come on, babe. I know you're not stupid, but you seem to think I am. I can see the way he looks at you, the way he moves around you. We all can. He seems a bit…too protective, if you know what I mean._

Now, let me explain something. I didn't have powers. I didn't have the fancy-shmancey starbolts like Little Miss Priss Starfire. I didn't have the telekinesis like Doom-and-Gloom Raven. And I didn't have the shape-shifting shit like Freaky-Ass Kid Beast Boy. But I did have my body. That was where Red X and I were alike, as much as I hated to admit it: we could both kick ass by legit using our feet, utilizing our body as a means of defense and attack. Throw in a few cool gadgets, and we were set to go. But I also had discipline. When I wanted something, I wouldn't stop till I got it. I tended to have my emotions under control as well; I usually disregarded them as much as I could, pretending they didn't exist. My anger hold was a little shaky, sure, but hey, it worked out for me. It was fuel.

And right now, that fuel was about to leak all over this little prick and combust on his ass.

_Listen here, stalker_, I practically snapped my phone in half. _You don't know shit. As much as you wish you were his apprentice, you're not. You're just another two-bit pillager, not worthy to even speak Slade's name. So how about you keep your face out of where it doesn't belong, and stop pretending like you know shit about something you haven't a clue about_.

_Whoa, whoa_, was his reply. _Down, kitty, put the claws away. No need to scratch. Seems like Slade isn't the only one that's overprotective_.

_It baffles me that you continue to act like a douchebag. Just go away!_

_If you really wanted me to go away, you'd stop texting me_.

…Fuck, he was right. Look, don't lose your mind; I really didn't like him. He was pretty annoying, no matter how much of a smooth-talker he was. But still, he was a smooth-talker, and I couldn't deny that he was pretty charming. I did enjoy the attention to a certain extent. I know, it was pathetic, but he was a boy, and Slade had never allowed anything of the male persuasion even speak two words to me. As long as he was around, I was under lock and key. Sometimes it really sucked. Red X was hot, no doubt about it, but Slade kept the good-looking ones at an even greater distance. But hey, he was just being protective, right? I was his apprentice, after all, and he'll protect his apprentice. We'd been together for five years. Obviously, he was going to be a bit possessive. He'd just recently decided that I was well trained enough to start doing shit for him.

Suddenly, footsteps began to sound. They were soft, gentle, barely there; untrained ears wouldn't have picked them. But I was so in tune, so aware of him now. It couldn't be anyone else, even if there were others around.

_I've got to go_, I texted quickly, shoved the phone beneath the pillow and dove beneath the comforters. Please, please, just walk by. Pretty please walk by. Oh, who was I kidding? My room was at the end of the fucking hallway, and I was the one that wanted the room with the floor-to-ceiling window. God damn, why did I have to go and be such a pussy and get a view? What did I want to look at anyway? Oh God, please Red X, don't text me back. Please, please, please!

The door swished open, and Slade entered again. I sat up immediately, something he expected from me. He was my master after all, and deserved respect. So a smile was plastered upon my face of its own accord. I couldn't tell if he'd smiled back, but I bet he wouldn't have. That wasn't something he really did.

"Tomorrow, you will—" he started, about to get right to the point.

_BZZZZZ_

Shit.

"What was that?" he asked. His voice was harsh.

Shit, shit.

"What was what?" I asked innocently. His expression not changing, he stalked toward me, his hand curling into a fist. You stupid idiot, Bailey, really?! Hadn't I learned? With his one cold, blue eye, he stared down at me. My heart shuddered in my ribcage. If my tear ducts hadn't practically dried out from lack of use, I probably would've cried from fear. His attacks were like a snake's, unpredictable and random.

Never breaking eye contact, he allowed his hand to wander beneath my pillow. God damn his incredible instincts. How did he always know where to look, what to do? I wondered at it, at the effortless way he just…_knew_. I was on my way, but not even close to that level of just knowledge.

"This," he said. There was no emotion in his tone, completely dead. Breath had to be forced in and out of my lungs by conscious thought. In, out, in, out, don't forget to breathe. His gaze had me trapped.

Nearly nonchalantly, he flicked the phone open. Oh crap. Who knows what Red X said?! He was probably the most sexual person I knew—well, perverted I guess I should say. Because Slade, well…Slade spoke with his actions more than his words…

Briefly, his orb flicked over the glowing text, and then returned to me. I could feel my own eyes grow twelve times their size. Perhaps it was a natural reaction, me trying to look innocent, or maybe I was trying to communicate through my line of sight. If my eyes could've spoken, they probably would've been screaming I was so scared. Please, Slade, please, mercy! But he didn't know mercy. He didn't know the definition of the word.

_SMACK_!

The back of his hand connected with my cheek, sending me flying, tumbling over the edge of my bed. I landed with a thud face-first against the floor. Thank God I had my carpet to cushion the blow a little more than the hardwood could have. My legs fell over, topsey-turvy like, and collapsed in the same place as my face did—on the floor. Breath seeped raggedly from my mouth. I would be lucky if he yielded. I would be lucky if he didn't just beat the shit out of me and leave me in a bloody mess right where I lay now.

Shakily, I pulled myself to my feet. My knees nearly clacked audibly together as I panted in his presence, begging him with my mind to leave. Of course, even if he'd heard me, he wouldn't listen. He'd leave if he wanted to. But right now, his eye just glared at me.

Without a word, his fingers constricted around the cell, and it crumbled to pieces in his palm. It seemed as though he didn't exert any effort at all; I would've put money on him just looking at the phone and making it break.

"Tomorrow, you _will_ obey me," he snarled lowly. "Tomorrow, you _will_ put your training to good use, and you _will_ destroy anyone I tell you to. Are you understanding me?"

"Yes, Master," I choked, swallowing the lump in my throat. With that, he dumped the remains of my phone onto the floor, where I'd been previously acquainted with. From across the bed, one last stare was thrown my way before he walked, gracefully and lithely, out the door, extinguishing the lights as he departed. A chill swarmed around me as he left me in the dark, and I let out a massive breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

As quickly as I could, I crawled into bed and buried my eyes into the pillow. Blackness assailed me, suffocated me, shoved me farther into my mattress as though it was trying to kill me. But it wasn't that bad. Snow had begun to drift from the heavens, gently grazing each surface with their delicate touch. Just the sight of it made me feel a little better, just a little, but it seemed to provide its own light. The purest luminescence of the moon kissed every contour of the individual flakes, and they threw it everywhere, illuminating everything as they passed and creating iridescence as they collected on the ground.

With them, I wasn't all alone. With them, it wasn't completely dark. With them, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

As I floated away to sleep, a gentle voice echoed in my head, repeating my name. It sounded just like Robin.

* * * *

**A/N: More?**

**Thanks Fluffy Lemons and DarkFlame Alchemist (hardcore name, buddy)! First reviewers :D.**

**And, as always, love Snitchy McSnitchsnitch. Seriously, if you're into Harry Potter, she's got a story called Golden that is really just great. Snape/OC love—got to love Snape, seriously!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I've been wheedling out some old Eminem songs and they're kind of starting to save me from a seriously awful case of writer's block that's been plaguing me for a while. SO thank him for this :D. I know this is crappy anyway, but hey, it's here, right? I'm still not exactly sure where I'm going with this here story, so I'm just making it up on the fly I guess, so don't kill me if it's bad. Gracias!**

****

Robin sighed. It was a heavy, exhausted sigh. This wasn't something he had time for, wasn't something he enjoyed, wasn't something he was really interested in at all. Of course, he was glad to finally have a break in a way; he always worked, but it was nice to let his mind cool down every now and again, even if he hated to. All work and no play made Robin a dull boy, but this was not play to him. This was indulgence. It was somewhat of a mandatory thing. It wasn't even in the same area code of priorities on his To-Do list. It was nearing torturous, especially when his brain was in high gear, as it was now, and he felt like pacing back and forth. This was NOT helping.

Movie marathon in the Titan's Tower was really not something he looked forward to.

"Okay, dudes, dudettes," Beast Boy grinned excitedly, rocking back and forth on his feet, heel-toe, heel-toe. "The moment of truth. It's all down to the final two. Which will win? Which will be victorious? Which will have the honor of being played on the Titan's screen of massive awesomeness--?"

"Just show the movies," Raven snarled. A frown poked onto the green boy's face.

"Fine, no need to be pushy," he pouted. "Now, which will it be? _Super Ninjas of Doom_, or _Raging Monster of Doom_?" He flashed the covers as he introduced them, like an announcer showing off the contestants. His expression clearly stated that he'd thought he'd picked winners, and that his friends would be overjoyed to watch them.

Clearly, he was wrong.

"Please," Starfire tried. "Do we not have a movie not including the Doom?"

Beast Boy frowned once again. He wasn't used to being put out by Starfire. "Uh…no?"

"Save the kiddy movies, ladies," a voice boomed. Everyone turned from their places on the couch, and Beast Boy whipped his gaze from the center of the floor. The intruder was Cyborg, and he strutted into the room as the metallic doors parted with a gentle whoosh. "I've got a movie that will make you wet the bed tonight."

This displeased the shape-shifter to no end. Who did this tin man think he was, just waltzing in here and stealing the spotlight? He was the king of movies, not this bucket of bolts. For a moment, he contemplated what to do—he could deliver a scathing comment to the man, something that would really kill him, if he could actually think of a good one. He could quickly shove a movie into the DVD slot and throw himself upon the couch, shrugging at Cyborg, suggesting he was too late. Or he could possibly morph into a T-Rex and bite his head off…but that wouldn't be very helpful…

Instead, he planted his hands on his hips and acted like a six-year-old. "Oh, yeah? And what could this possibly be?"

Cyborg, with an evil grin, whipped the film out from behind his back. A gasp came from Raven.

"Wow," she breathed. "Impressive, Cyborg, impressive."

"_The Shining_?" Beast Boy sneered. "Doesn't sound so hot." But he was lying. He'd heard that _The Shining_ was one of the scariest movies ever made, and his heart thumped unevenly in his chest. He wanted to watch it. Boy, did he ever want to watch it. Instant gratification or shutting down Cyborg. The choice was difficult.

"Why, you scared, Little Man?" the metal man hopped over the back of the sofa, thudded onto the floor, and ruffled the green boy's hair in a noogie-like fashion.

"No!" he howled, leaping back. "I just thing _Super Ninjas of Doom_ would be way better!"

"Oh please," Cyborg scoffed. "They can't even match their mouths to the words!"

"Well, what kind of title is _The Shining_?!"

"You wouldn't know."

"And why's that?"

"Because you can't read, so you've never picked up the book."

"I can to read!"

"Spare me the lies, dawg."

"I'm not lying!"

"When was the last time you opened a book?--"

"GUYS!" Robin bellowed. This was a waste of time, and that was one thing he couldn't afford to let slip through his be-gloved fingers. Leads, leads, he had _leads_! Research had to be done, people had to be questioned, note cards had to be made, trails had to be followed, there was so much, so much to do! He really shouldn't have been there at all—it was pointless when there was all that work to be done. But he knew poor Starfire would bug him until he finally came back out of his room and joined them once more. Then she would attempt to make popcorn and nearly explode the microwave in the process, and then they would have to order pizza. Again.

"This is stupid," Robin growled. "Just. Pick. One."

The room was quiet for a beat. It was clear that his temperament was not exceptional—although they didn't know when it ever was—and when he got mad, he got _mad_. Each and every one of them had witnessed him lose his cool, and they didn't want him going all apeshit on their asses. Seeing him out of control was almost as scary as a grizzly bear mauling a bunny or something like that.

"I would like to vote now, please," Starfire said quietly. Immediately, Cyborg and Beast Boy's animation returned.

"Okay, everyone for _Super Ninjas of Doom_, raise your hand!" Beast Boy offered, throwing his gloved hand into the air. He was conspicuously the only one. A scowl clouded his face.

"Mhm," Cyborg chuckled. "Alrighty then. Now, all in favor of _The Shining_, raise your hand."

Raven lifted a finger in agreement while Starfire waved her hand in the air. A smile hadn't returned to her face because of Robin's outburst, and he knew this. She never was happy when he wasn't, and he appreciated it…to a point. Sometimes she was thoroughly annoying and he couldn't take her. As his best friend, he knew she was concerned for him, sometimes to the point of an obsession. But she still didn't seem to fully comprehend the idea of space yet, and that Earthlings needed their space sometimes. She tended to get right in your face or right in your bubble, and it put him on edge at points.

"HAHA!" Cyborg cackled. "Take that, ya little booger!" And with that, he slid the slim disk into the slit and dove onto the couch next to a very disgruntled Beast Boy. Starfire scooched a little closer to Robin, and Robin wasn't unaware of this. His gaze darted to the side of his mask, taking in her lovely profile and nice red hair. But even as the movie started, he couldn't stop thinking about that one beautiful criminal. Even as Starfire continuously attempted to move closer and closer to him, he couldn't stop thinking about _that one beautiful criminal_. It was impossible for him to tear his mind away from the look upon her gorgeous face, the way her outfit hugged her body, the way her golden hair played around her shoulders in straight layers. He could see himself leaning in, tilting his head lightly to the side, watching her eyelids flutter closed, and pressing his lips gently—

Oh, what was he thinking? He'd never done anything before in his life, and he doubted he'd start now. Girls really weren't his forte, and he completely immersed himself into his work, which didn't really allow for a fully functioning relationship. No girl wanted a guy that was constantly busy, and that was Robin's way of rolling. If the chick couldn't deal, then she could get out, because being a Titan was first and foremost for him, whether or not she liked it. It was just…difficult, especially when he had…urges…and Starfire was just down the hall…

God, at this rate, he'd never make it through the movie. Not with these thoughts playing in his head and Bailey's face a clear imprint upon his mind.

*

"AAAAHHHH!" Starfire shrieked, and threw her arms around Robin. Robin started first at the movie, and then at this obvious gesture of affection. It wasn't a possibility that she was just scared. Sure, she could've been terrified, but the girl had self control. She could've riveted her arms by her sides if she wanted, but no, she let them fly wildly and encircle him. But of course she'd forgotten about her super strength, and soon Robin was begging for release.

"Star," he muttered, gasping. "Please."

"Oh!" she breathed. Her arms retreated. "I apologize!" But she did permit her hand to fall lightly upon his own. He eyeballed it meaningfully, but when his attention flickered to her face, she'd returned to watching the movie attentively. Her massive green eyes were glued to the screen. A wave of despair crashed over him, and he had to fight a huge sigh. He always had to restrict her, to push her away, to not allow her too close. Lately, with the occurrence of that particular girl, he'd pushed her farther away than ever and he could tell that she was infinitely frustrated. But he couldn't help it. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't as if he could bang her, or even kiss her. First of all, they were both Titans, and that would just be really awkward. Secondly, they were both Titans, and that isn't something that heroes do. They take down villains, and having hours of sex really wasn't part of the hero bit. Thirdly, he was interested in a little something else right now…

Everyone shrieked again. He tried to pay attention but he just couldn't. Flashes of color rained down upon him and slipped through his fingers. The kid simply wasn't able to pay attention. His focus had wandered elsewhere. He could see her soft golden hair glinting behind his eyes, and he watched her lithe body flex and dip and twirl and lash out in a deadly dance that both intimidated him and excited him. As a hero, he wanted to attack the villain perfecting her lethal strikes, but as a man he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her drop away.

Another round of screams, and there was a soft gasp from the other end of the couch. It was the tiniest sound, so gentle that the other three didn't hear it. But he did, and he peered down the line. There, lavender eyes as wide as softballs, was Raven. Around her neck were Beast Boy's skinny arms, his cheek shoved against the curve of her neck.

A burst of slight envy echoed in Robin's throat. All of a sudden, he could see Bailey and himself in their place. He could see her in Beast Boy's place. He could see him in Raven's place. He could see everything, brilliant and bright, right before him, shimmering like a dream come to life. Strange enough, he didn't really care all that much that two of his friends and teammates were clutching each other. It was more that there was something there that he wanted more than anything. And here it was, glimmering right under his nose.

He wondered vaguely what she was doing at that moment.

*

"That. Was. Epic." Beast Boy said in awe. His jaw had dropped eight feet to the floor, and flies would've been comical, but not completely off-point, if they'd buzzed around his head.

"Indeed," Starfire breathed, practically falling into Robin's lap. "That was most…er…epic."

"Wow," Raven acknowledged simply.

"Yeah, baby!" Cyborg exclaimed. "I told y'all you'd love it!" All at once, everyone burst out into conversation. The movie was obviously the focus, but all the Boy Wonder could hear was a gentle din. No one stood out particularly; he couldn't bring himself to listen as he thought he should.

"Robin," a voice whispered softly. He cocked his head toward the sound, and there were the biggest green orbs he'd ever seen.

He started slightly. "Uh…yeah, Star?"

"Would you mind retiring to my room for a moment?" she inquired. A blush began to rapidly spread across her fair cheeks. "I am in need of assistance with…something…"

A bad feeling came over Robin. It was the feeling when you knew nothing good could possibly come of a situation. The way she was looking at him was a little too doe-eyed, and the way her face tilted up toward his so he could have a clear shot at her ample chest was a smidge too suggestive for her natural behavior. He was now faced with a choice: would he continue to her room, to the unknown, to the possibly dangerous, or stay here and offend her thoroughly, maybe putting their friendship at risk? Starfire was beyond sensitive. Choosing to not "help" her could only mean disaster, clearly stating that he hated her in Star's eyes.

He was really stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Uh…" he stammered. "I…I don't…I mean I'm not sure if—"

"Wonderful!" she said, seized his hand, and leapt over the couch, taking flight. The others didn't seem to notice their departure. They were far too busy conversing about the movie once again. Raven really wasn't in the conversation, but she wasn't paying attention to the pair taking their leave either. Her large eyes had glazed over as she stared thoughtfully at the wall, a slight scowl pushing her thin lips into a pout. Pondering, surely, but what no one could begin to fathom. Raven was definitely a puzzle that everyone had long since stopped trying to solve. It was simply too difficult. Robin thought about crying out to her, but soon the doors whooshed shut, and it was far too late.

"Star, I can walk," he mentioned up to her. There was a rush to his voice, an urgency. He didn't like being in her grasp and not in control of his own escape if there needed to be one.

"This is much faster," she assured him. From trailing beneath her, the tips of his metal shoes brushing the carpet every now and again, he could see a strange gleam in her emerald eyes. It sent his spine shivering, and suddenly the unknown became evermore vast and uncertain.

He knew he could free himself easily on his own. The idea to swing himself up, shove his sole into her chest, and yank his hand free crossed his mind, but he abruptly shooed it away. Nonsense, that's what it was. Starfire was part of his team, part of his inner circle, a friend. There wasn't a chance in Hell that she would endanger him. It wouldn't have dawned on her in a million years. And he wasn't oblivious to the fact that she was quite infatuated with him. His refusal to act on it was prominent, but that didn't deter her, and this worried him. A brief flash of light skin, golden hair, and chocolate eyes flickered in his mind, and the sight of Bailey startled him. But it made everything fall together. Suddenly, Starfire's actions were clear and obvious. No, she wasn't deterred, not in the slightest. He was immediately desperate to get his and free, and he began to tug.

"Is this—mmf—" he gave another insistent pull. "Really—urg—necessary?" How was he supposed to get himself free without hurting her? She was much too strong for him to simply wriggle himself away, and it seemed she was using every bit of strength she had to squeeze his wrist in her grip.

With his question, her other hand clamped down upon his green-covered forearm. This was not looking good.

She turned sharply, and the door to her room swished open. He was suddenly flying through the air of his own accord, and with a grunt, he landed upon her bed. The purple comforter plumed around him as if it was swallowing him, and purple pillows leapt up to greet him. Everything was signaling that escape was futile, but he didn't make an attempt at leaving just yet. Perhaps Star really just needed some help. Perhaps he was just getting carried away, letting his ego drag him to futures where she desired him so much that she'd entrap him in her abode. Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous.

But Starfire was working strangely quickly. The Boy Wonder sat upon her mattress, bewildered, as she bustled around her room, shoving a CD in her boom box, slamming down the play button, and before the romantic and slow music drifted out of the speakers, she'd whipped some makeup upon her already-wondrous face. When the first beautiful note was emitted, she was perched in front of him on the bed, her lashes ten times longer accompanied by mascara, eyes ten times greener with the help of black liner, lips ten times shinier with the aid of gloss, and stinking of some strange perfume that didn't smell bad in the least but was now turning his stomach with fear.

He tried not to panic. He tried to calm himself. He tried to stifle his rapid heartbeat.

"Er," Robin started, shrinking back slightly as she gazed up at him with huge orbs. "So, uh, what did you…need…help with again?"

Starfire advanced more prominently, and he leaned back again. "I have learned of the tricks of your people, and I would like to employ them."

Robin's back finally hit the wall after squirming back farther and farther, and Starfire planted both her hands beside his hips on the bed and leaned in significantly. Her eyelids were at half mast, shielding him from her startling gaze, enabling him to think more clearly. But it wasn't long before another, possibly more startling gaze burst behind his vision. Warm brown eyes whipped through his mind, and he internally gasped at their intensity, at the perfection of a face they were imbedded in. The snippet of a shot was there, vivid and clear, for only a moment, and then it dissolved back into the exotic face of Starfire, framed by fiery silk hair.

"Star, I—" but he didn't finish. She shoved her lips unto his, closing her eyes in glee. With a start, he realized that it wasn't completely unpleasant. Her mouth was soft and warm and nice against is, and he himself used to be interested in the alien. But the sensation dissipated quickly. It suddenly felt rotten, wrong to be connected to her like this. It wasn't Bailey. It wasn't who he wanted.

"Star," he mumbled against her lips, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Starfire, come on, stop." He shoved lightly, but she didn't seem to notice. She was far too caught up in her own delight of finally acquiring the gesture of love that this world provided. She was on Cloud Nine, wondering at his smooth touch.

"Starfire!" Robin insisted, and pushed quite hard. The movement broke through her stupor, and she pulled away, looking at him inquiringly.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked. "Am I not doing it correctly?"

"I don't even know _what_ you're doing," he almost cried. His confusion was so thorough that he didn't know how or what to tell her. "I…what are you doing?"

She stared at him, puzzled. "I was under the impression that we were sharing the kiss."

"No, Star," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "When two people kiss, it usually means both parties are in agreement."

"I was also under the impression that you _were_ in agreement, Robin." Her eyes were huge now. They seemed to soften his tone immensely, persuading it to ease up.

"What made you think that?" he asked gently. He wasn't scornful as his words may've implied; he truly was interested, but didn't want to hurt her feelings. She watched his mask flick up where his eyebrows would have, expressing a look of sad bewilderment.

"I…" Starfire gaped at him. This was not how she planned on it going. "I received information from the Web of Internets that…that a kiss was…appropriate…" Her eyes flew downward as red seeped through her cheeks once again. Robin held back another sigh. She was so confused, always so confused, so frustrated. He felt for her, he really did, but not enough to encourage her.

"Look, I'm sorry," his voice was soft. "But it's really not like that, Star."

"I understand," she whispered. "I misread. Again."

He reached out, his hand intent upon falling onto her shoulder, but she snapped at him. "Leave now, please. I wish to be alone." And he watched a tear slither silently down her fair cheek as her mouth twisted into a grimace of restraint, trying to hold back a sob. It would be best if he did indeed leave, he surmised. His weight gradually fell away from the bed, and he was standing, watching her cautiously. Did she really want him to leave? Was she going to attack him again? Regret so powerful flooded his heart, but he really did want to leave. The air was thick with tension nearing awkwardness, and he didn't want to give her the wrong impression again, yet he still wish he hadn't done whatever he did to set her off the first time. Whatever he'd done to lead her on, he wish he could've murdered the action before it came into conception.

His feet thudded lightly against the floor as he wandered toward the exit. When the doors slid open, he paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

A sniffle ripped from behind him, and he stepped out, allowing the doors to close on his back.

*

_He turns round and round, inspecting his surroundings. A forest? Why is he in a forest? There aren't any forests in Jump City, and it is actually strange to him to see such greenery. He can't remember the last time he's seen such a magnificent sight as moonlight filters through the infinitesimal gaps in the leaves as they overlap. White light pools upon his chest, in his hair, around his shoes, in select parts of the dirt-and-leaf encrusted forest floor. The air is cold, cold, why is it so cold? Shudders flood over him as the temperature really hits him, constricting is heart. He knows he should be on edge. He knows he should be in intense fear, on high alert. But he can't bring himself to be. He is certain that there really isn't anything to be afraid of; there is nothing that will hurt him. Instead, he actually is at ease, simply curious as to how he has ended up here. His stance is casual as one hip leans out, and his cape laps gently at his forearms._

_There is a rustle, and he starts slightly, jumping around. He is tenser now, but still no fear has roared within him. _

"_Robin," a voice singsongs. It is light, beautiful, pure, perfect. The melodious tone to it is enchanting, hypnotic, and he is immediately entrapped in the smooth, lovely folds of the delightful voice. Where is it coming from? To whom does it belong?_

_Another rustle sounds from his right. He relaxes his position, straightening from the fighting stance, and peers close into the space between the trunks of the trees. There is definitely movement there._

"_Robin," the amazing voice sings again. It seems to come from the place he is looking at. _

"_Who's there?" he asks, his tone pleading. "Please, show yourself." He can't bring himself to be angry, to be aggressive, to want to fight. There doesn't feel go be any need, as if some sort of instinct is quieting his innate sense of danger. He is soothed, platonic, completely settled. There doesn't seem to be any threat, and so he can't force himself into being riled up. There is more movement from the place his sight is fixed upon, and he knows that is where the sound is coming from._

"_I won't hurt you," he says softly. The second the words drop from his lips, he knows they are true and not merely persuasive. _

_The movement pauses, and then an angel bursts from between the trees. _

_She truly does appear to be an angel. Her body is wrapped in a flowing white dress that is wide-necked, scooping low down her chest but does not reveal anything. It is tight around her slim waist and then billows into a fluttering, loose trail around her hips. A golden sash hangs around the very same hips, casual and at ease itself, dangling effortlessly. The knots knock against her thighs as an invisible breeze ruffles the fluttery fabric. Her skin is a flawless ivory that sheaths every inch of exposed features, and her cheeks are lightly tinted a soft red. Her nose is slightly upturned, delightfully pixie-like, and her lips are thin and sweet. But he can't tear his attention away from the incredible waterfall of golden hair that swings around her shoulder blades, nor can he look away from the striking depth of her amazing chocolate eyes. She's beautiful. She's heavenly. She's perfect._

_She's Bailey. _

_Her name gets caught in his throat as he tries to utter the word, but she simply continues to advance upon him, her movements smooth and sinewy. Her gaze is steady and unwavering as she draws closer, as though she isn't perturbed in the least that he hasn't beckoned to her. She is intent upon meeting him, and that is just what she will do._

_She arrives at a mere few inches away from him, and her eyes gleam as she stares up at him. His mouth moves uselessly as he stares down at her. _

"_I know you won't hurt me," she whispers gently. Almost absentmindedly, her fingers lightly trace the muscles in his biceps, her touch almost nonexistent. Though it is nearly impossible to feel the sensation, shivers explode through his body regardless. It is clear that they are touching, and that is enough to send Robin into a fit. _

"_I…" he tries to say something, but nothing wants to come out of his windpipe. Instead, he watches her doodle strange, unfamiliar shapes on his skin, reveling in the fact that they are connected. Her gaze is thoughtful, experimental as she tests him._

"_I know you won't hurt me," she repeats. "I just don't know why."_

"_I could never hurt you," he answers her desperately. He still refrains from movement, sure that if he does move too quickly, he'll scare her off just as quickly and suddenly as she came._

_Her fingers dance higher up his bicep, trailing over his shoulder and along the slope of his collar. _

"_Why?" she insists. Her attention is still focused on her miniscule actions, but he is focused intently on her. He regards her face as seriously as he would regard an injury, afraid that anything could set her off. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what she wants to hear. But he is all too aware that the truth is ramming against his lips, intent upon breaking through._

"_I just couldn't," he mutters. The brown of her eyes is incredible, infinite, glistening in the purest light of all as the moon is reflected in their depths. Miles of lashes caress the tips of her cheeks as she blinks, and all he wants to do is peck the skin that they brush against. _

"_Perhaps it's for the same reason that I could never hurt you," she offers, and raises her gaze. Their lines of sight clash and sparks rain down almost tangibly from the connection. She steps closer and allows her fingers to play up to his neck, letting them frolic everywhere they wish, covering the front, the sides, the back, everywhere. He can't get enough of it, can't get enough of her soft touch, can't get enough of her beautiful face. His hands twitch, dying to wrap around her waist, but he refrains, using all his strength to hold them back. _

"_Never…" he mouths, still gaping at her perfection. Her eyes haven't left his. He feels small under her gaze, tiny in the greater picture that was her being. There is a slight movement, and her hand cups the back of his neck. _

_Everything falls into place. There is only one thing to do._

_In time with her, he leans down as she stretches up to him. Their lips are so close, so close, almost there—_

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!

Robin shot up with a gasp. He sat there for a minute, panting, sweat creeping down his forehead. The alarm was blaring in his ears, annoying beyond belief. Why couldn't that thing come with a freaking snooze button? Why couldn't life come with a freaking snooze button? He was in the middle of the most perfect dream of his life, and the siren's wailing had jolted him from the absolute flawlessness of Bailey's eyes. They were clearly imprinted behind his eyelids, rest assured, but they'd been so real, so _there_ moments ago. He wanted it back. He wanted them back so much that his heart burned, ached, thumped unevenly. He wanted to fall back against his pillow and retrieve them.

Instead, he stumbled from his bed and darted out the door.

"Robin, report," he called as he trotted into the main room. "What's going on?"

"What do you think?" Raven said from her spot behind the screen. Her fingers clicked noisily as she typed. "It's her. Again. Obviously."

"This time, we're taking her down," Cyborg snarled, punching his fist into his open palm.

"You bet we are!" Beast Boy exclaimed. "I'll be like 'RAWR!' and then I'll be like 'GRR!' and then I'll be like 'HISS!' and then I'll be like—mmf!" Cyborg clapped his hand over his fanged mouth and glared at him.

"Save it for the fight, dawg," he said. Just then, there was a gentle whooshing, and a sullen-looking Starfire meandered into the room. When her eyes connected with an inquisitive Robin's, she immediately looked down and clutched her bicep. A pout assailed her face. There was a slight pang of regret echoing in Robin's chest again, because he really did feel bad for hurting Star's feelings. But there were more important issues at hand. Bailey was on the loose, and he had to find some way to stop her…without hurting her. And he still had to be convincing.

It was a good thing Robin was smart, because he would have to really be clever to get out of this one.

*

"Man, I am psyched!" Beast Boy howled. Robin could hear him in the confines of the T-Car as he hyped himself up for the battle through his R-Cycle's helmet. "We're going to just annihilate this chick. I can feel it, it's our turn!"

"You're just mad you got beat by a girl," Cyborg jeered.

"Hey, so did you, Tin Man!" the green boy replied.

"Yeah, but I ain't got a macho problem," he explained. "I ain't the one that's insecure about his height."

"What makes you think I'm insecure?!" he defended. "And I'm plenty tall, thanks very much!"

"Uh-huh," Cyborg muttered, unconvinced. Robin could hear the grin in his voice. "Sure you are, Little Man."

"I'm not little!" he cried.

"I said sure," Cy assuaged.

"I'm so not little!"

"Yo, didn't you hear me?"

"Hey," Robin growled. "Focus, you two. We don't have the time for this. We've got to take her down now, once and for all, understood? She's gone on way too long."

Again, like the first time, it was silent as they neared the targeted place now. Each person needed their own time to prep themselves. Robin tried extremely hard to put up a wall around his mind, but it wasn't the wall that he'd tried to construct the first time. This time, it was a wall that he hoped would help him to do all he could do without hurting her. This would definitely be difficult. How could he help beat her without allowing for her demise? Was it possible? Or would he just have to swallow his affection and kick her butt like Cyborg had suggested they all do? Well, he had to try something, and like he vowed in his dream, he could never hurt her. Though this irked him that he could be so weak, he still had to face the fact.

The intense wave of déjà vu that suffocated him was staggering. Yet again, he brought his motorcycle to a screaming stop in front of the building. He'd seen this building many times; it seemed to be a prime target for criminals, considering the vast amount of arsenals concealed by its walls. Lord only knew the thousands upon thousands of weapons that lined the cells. He most certainly didn't want to think about which one of the deadly trinkets Slade was after now, but he was bound to find out anyway. As he jogged toward the front door, he heard the sounds of his team following. A sinking feeling seized his heart. He prayed to God that this would be simple, effortless, that she would give up.

He knew there wasn't a chance in Hell, and so he prayed for the next best thing that could've been available.

Robin shoved the door open, and behind a marble desk, the tip of a secretary's head could be seen. It peeped just above the counter, but it seemed as though she was simply too petrified to peer over and see who else had busted into the building to cause more chaos.

"Where is she?" Robin barked. The lady poked her head over the edge, and she sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank God," she whimpered, then pointed as she spoke. "Right through there, wreaking havoc."

And the five were off.

And yet again, the Boy Wonder kicked the door down, and _yet again,_ the enchanting girl had stolen property clutched in her small hand. Dozens of guards lay sprawled everywhere, moaning gently. She jumped at the loud noise the door made as it banged open, and she whipped around. She had just been in the midst of reaching high on a rack to retrieve the object of her mission, and it was perched between her fingers now, glistening in the dull light.

"Put it down, Bailey," he called out to her, failing to come up with something clever. "Don't do this." The tension from his team battered him in the back, but he ignored it and focused on the girl.

"Bailey?" Cyborg whispered. "You know her name? …And it's Bailey?"

"And you all made fun of me for Garfield?" Beast Boy growled under his breath. Robin had a strong urge to kick him in the face with a roundhouse, but he stifled it, choosing once again to put them in the back of his mind. Instead he watched Bailey's mouth move uselessly as she tried to form the words she was looking for.

There was a dull buzzing, and her hand flew to her ear and cupped it, her eyes closing tightly.

"Titans, GO!" Robin hollered, and hung back as they attacked. It seemed that Starfire was in a rage, flying ahead of all of them, getting off a clean round of starbolts in seconds. Her fifth one hit the girl square in the chest, and she shot back, slamming into the wall. Clearly she hadn't been prepared, but she was now. With a determined expression, she shoved to her feet with an air of complete dominance. Her brow hung low over her pretty eyes as she brushed her arm off.

"Bad move, princess," she mumbled, and Robin knew it was mostly to herself. He also knew that a fury was starting to rumble deep within her, and he was beginning to fear for the lives of his teammates.

"Uh, Titans…" but his voice caught. What could he tell them to do? What was he supposed to say?

Bailey grabbed a peg high on the wall that served as a holder for a weapon, yanked, and whipped herself into the air. Robin was in awe as she flew toward Starfire, looping at the peak of her momentum and then tumbling down. Her hand caught the redhead's forearm and soon both were falling. But the girl was certain in her movements as she grabbed Star's thigh, brought her back a little, and then threw her hard to the ground. She landed with a thud and a cry as Bailey landed with a gentle scuffing sound. First her foot, then her knee came into contact with the tile.

He could practically hear her mind thinking: _who's next?_

Beast Boy charged her in the form of a rhinoceros as Raven encased a door in her black energy and launched it at her. Bailey focused on Beast Boy first. Her feet skipped lightly backward and to the right, leading the beast, a smile drawn across her face. Robin could see what would happen long before it did happen, but it was too late. He couldn't halt his green friend or his dark friend. They were on a collision course.

Just as he suspected, Bailey flipped backward just as Beast Boy dove forward, and the flying door smacked right into his side. Robin winced, refusing to watch anymore, but he could hear her light thudding footsteps as she darted down the hallway toward the back exit. Suddenly, there was a hand that fell onto his shoulder.

"I've got the sonic if you've got the boom," Cyborg offered. The Boy Wonder turned to him to see a smirk playing at his lips. He offered a weak grin in return.

"Let's do this," he said. His voice cracked obviously, and he almost winced again against the dead giveaway, but instead he yanked out a little trinket of his. His metal friend's arm transformed into a sonic cannon, and his teeth glinted.

"Titans," Cyborg started. Then, the two of them cried: "GO!" and began to sprint.

Robin knew the routine well. They'd practiced it multiple times, and it had only failed once in battle that one time against Cinder Block. It had been perfected since then, and now it couldn't miss. That was just what he was afraid of. He'd promised, promised he could never hurt her. He couldn't allow this. With all his strength, he sent out a desperate call with his mind, trying to communicate with her telepathically and pathetically: _BAILEY, WATCH OUT!_

Their momentum carried them up the wall and along the ceiling. He knew it was his turn to throw his disk, and then Cyborg would fire his cannon. It would hit her, and she would fall unconscious if she didn't die. His heart thumped unevenly, petrified. Think of something, damn it, think! Then, something_ did_ hit him. As he pulled his hand back to throw, he grabbed the tail of his cape. Please work, please, please work.

Robin whipped his hand out to toss it. When his arm extended, he yanked is cape. It yanked his body around, and the disk slid from between his fingers and flew toward the metal man. His sonic cannon had fired, but the toy exploded before him.

The boy watched the scene unfold. Cyborg pulled up, startled by the burst, and Bailey dodged the blue stream of energy, lithe and smooth as ever, a nice little tuck-and-roll.

_Yes_, he sighed in his mind. It was bittersweet to be sure. He'd just taken out his teammate and friend to save the enemy. A sense of disgust suddenly seized him. He couldn't figure out whether he was coming or going, which side he was on…nothing made sense to him anymore, and his heart began to throb. Cyborg lay on the ground, groaning softly as he tried to pull himself to his big metallic feet again, and he could practically hear the curses streaming through his mind now, one explicative after the other, dooming him to the fieriest pits of hell. But as Robin looked up from his own place upon the floor and locked gazes with Bailey, he was certain he did the right thing. He did the only thing he could do. He didn't have a choice. He never had, and never would.

The girl stared at him in open shock. Her magnificent eyes were wide, massive, and they could've caught every star in the sky had they fallen down at that exact moment. Her lips were formed into a perfect little O. He couldn't get enough of her flawless face. She was beautiful. She was lovely. She was everything he could ask for.

And then there were footsteps. To the two of them, they were thunderous, loud, obnoxious, but to Cyborg, they were normal. Both Robin and Bailey had been trained to listen to every shift of the air, and as they gaped at each other, they could hear three pairs of feet approaching quickly. Suddenly, one pair of feet disappeared, and that's when both of them were certain that it was the rest of the Titans team; Starfire must've taken flight in her anxious haste.

"Go," Robin mouthed to her, his mask wide with desperation. For a moment, she hesitated, and then the Boy Wonder could hear an annoying buzzing. She clapped her hand over her ear again, and all he wanted to do was leap through the damn earpiece and strangle Slade. He was hurting her, he was hurting her, he was doing the very last thing that anyone should ever do. He was hurting her.

Of course, he didn't know just how _much_ he was hurting her behind closed doors. Bailey prayed that he never would.

With a swift parting glance, Bailey bit her lip, unfolded a trinket from her utility belt, shot the thing to the far wall, and as the cord retracted, it pulled her with it and shot her out the door. Just as she parted the two heavy pieces of steel, a voice called out.

"Robin!" it exclaimed, shrill with fear. "Cyborg!"

Starfire immediately grounded herself as she entered the place where the two Titans lay. And of course, she immediately went to Robin. As she helped him to his feet, her pretty face was void of any bitterness toward him that may've been left over from yesterday, cleaned of any angry residue. He offered her a small smile of thanks, but quickly withdrew his hand. She seemed unperturbed yet again. This girl could not be shaken off, and this wasn't news to Robin, though it still bugged him to no end. That meant that she may come after him again with another attack.

"Yo, dawg, what was that?!" Cyborg cried. He had gotten to his feet and was throwing his hands in the air in wild gestures, indicating just how pissed he really was.

"I'm sorry," Robin muttered. "I got my cape caught in my hand and I tugged and…well…"

"No, no 'well,'" Cyborg chided. "She got away! What are we supposed to do now?"

"We'll chase after her, that's what we'll do!" Beast Boy urged, his teeth bared. His sole mission in life had just become to take this little bitch down, because no one made a fool out of Beast Boy, and he meant nobody, especially not a stupid little girl.

"We can't," Raven reasoned in her usual monotone. "You've seen her. She's probably long gone by now, scampering back to Slade."

"I am afraid that Raven is correct," Starfire offered. "She does indeed have the moves. Why do we not all go home and order the pizza?"

There was a low grumble, and each of them took that as an agreement. With sluggish movements, they wandered out of the facility, their heads hung low. Press had just started to flock, their cameras an epileptic attack of flashing lights and a roar of noise. No Titan stopped for anything, not even when microphones were shoved into their faces. Raven had to be ushered through first, lest her temper be tested, and Robin took up the rear, the more cordial of all of them. Though his temper was really raging now, it was different than the blind fury of the telekinetic Titan. He was angry with himself that he couldn't just make up his damn mind. He was a hero, and heroes weren't wishy-washy; they were either on the side of good, or on the side of evil.

Robin had fallen in love with evil, but he wondered just how evil she really was.

****

**A/N: More?**

**Pretty crappy, but it's rather long I guess. I've realized it's quite difficult for me to write in 3****rd**** person, and I really need to be in the mood for it, so I'm sorry if it feels rushed in places. My writer's block is beginning to lose some of its stagnant nature, so hopefully it's on its way out :D.**

**I also wrote this all in, like, two days because I was feeling a rush of inspiration, and this is my evil little spawn. Hopefully I didn't torture you too bad. **


	4. Chapter 4

_Okay, _I thought_. Okay. Okay. You got this, Bailey, you got this. You can do it. You know him like the back of your—_

Slade threw a punch. My arm shot up to block it.

_-hand. It's easy. Just relax, just go with it, react but think ahead._

He followed up with a roundhouse kick. I back-flipped out of the way, planted my foot, and lunged at him. He did just as I suspected; a small step to the side to narrowly avoid me. My hands came in contact with the stone floor, and I put all my weight on my palms to sweep my foot around to catch his ankles. I made no purchase; Slade hopped into the air. But the heel of his hand sure did a number on my cheek as it came crashing into my face.

Yep, I knew him like the back of my hand. Not.

I didn't even have time to clutch the point of impact. He quickly followed up with a kick straight into my collarbone. It was as if the space was made for him, his foot fitting into the fine crevice with startling comfort. Of course, it wasn't exactly comfortable for me, but hey, what can you do?

Next thing I knew, my back was against the floor with his sole pressed hard against my throat. Rasps filtered from my mouth, pathetic and weak.

"It's easy to see," a deep voice mumbled. "How you are so easily defeated by the Titans."

I didn't answer. I just lay panting beneath him, hoping to God that he'd let me go. I didn't point out that I'd never been defeated by the Titans; it had rarely even been close. I didn't bring up that I'd done everything he'd wanted, other than waste the five of them. Each of his demands had been fulfilled, but of course, that truth never left my lips. I was too busy concentrating on the pressure he was putting on my esophagus to mind the facts.

"You consider yourself worthy to be my apprentice?" he asked softly. Again, I kept quiet. I could feel my stomach heaving as I desperately dragged breath through my teeth.

"Well?" With his insistence, he pressed down slightly harder. For some strange reason, my legs jumped and flailed slightly with the additional weight. My hips jerked upward too, as though they were trying to relieve the pressure, as though they were trying to help. At the time, I didn't take note that he'd certainly seen that.

"No," I gasped. "No, Master." My fingers had a death-grip on his ankle, begging quietly for him to release me.

"Of course not," he said quietly. Then, even quieter, he breathed, "That's my girl." He retracted his foot, and the rush of air that flooded my lungs was sweet and delicious. I huffed and I puffed, tasting as much as I could, bringing in as much oxygen that my feeble organs could take. It tasted lovely, it tasted wonderful, it tasted like freedom, like perfection, like life. With satisfaction, my limbs plopped down to the floor.

"Get up," Slade commanded. "You'll never get any better if you cannot take a hit."

Yet again, my mouth stayed shut. I didn't mention to him that I'd taken numerous hits, all thanks to him, and I'd still gotten up. I didn't say anything. Instead, I wobbled to my feet. Once erect, I was much steadier, but I still stared at him with slight contempt. His heckling was getting harsher.

"Good girl," he muttered. Immediately, the resentment fled my body. That phrase, that single phrase, was one of the things that I lived for. My thighs protested unhappily as I slid into my ready crouch, but I didn't pay any mind. They would have to deal with it. My only limitation was my body, and my brain could go on forever. The goal of my training was to achieve mind over matter. It felt so close, so close, and then with each scream of my muscles, I knew I was that much farther from perfection.

"Now, as I'm sure you've noticed," Slade spoke to me, circling me like I was prey. My eyes didn't leave his. "Robin makes the first move ninety-five percent of the time, does he not?"

"Yes, Master," I muttered, more out of habit than conscious decision.

"This is ideal, as you have learned that it is far easier to defend and then launch an attack than it is to outright attack. Tell me why this is."

"Because the first to attack is vulnerable post-charge," I recited. "It's also easiest to attack when the opponent has just completed a maneuver because there has been time to do a complete assessment on the opponent's style and weaknesses."

"Good," he nodded. "And what is Robin's favorite plan of attack?"

"Full-frontal assault."

"Favorite weapon?"

"Fighting staff."

"Favorite way to begin?"

"When fighting a Slade-bot or going one-on-one with you, he attacks, but against me, he tends to let one of his teammates take control, at least to start. A round of starbolts seems to be good for him."

"Very good," he praised. There was a moment of silence, and then out of nowhere, Slade charged.

Slade never dove. He never lunged, never came close to having his body horizontal to the ground. It wasn't him. It wasn't his fighting style. He always felt most comfortable when he had a firm sense of the ground, when there was something beneath him. It was very rare for him to even dodge and have his body tilted. But now, he threw himself at me. He drew his fist back and let it fly toward my face—a very Robin-esque move. That was the purpose.

I bent over backward, shoved my hands against the stone ground, and whipped my foot straight up. The force as it connected with his rock-like abs shocked my leg, but I persisted, driving deeper into the kick. In the end, I ended up heaving him over me.

It was an odd sound, hearing him collide with the ground. There was an eerie, metallic clang as his armor scraped against the floor. When I righted myself, I gaped openly at him. He was face down. At first, pricks of worry wriggled in my tummy. Did I hurt him? Was he okay? Was he alive?

But then I realized I was completely and utterly ridiculous to think such thoughts. Slade was never hurt. Slade was always okay. Slade never died.

"Excellent," he mumbled to the tiny rocks. Then, he pushed himself into a squatting position. His back was still to me. My eyes were focused on him as though my life depended on it, and if I was truly his opponent instead of his apprentice, my life indeed would've depended on not letting him surprise me. Anything that he did that I didn't suspect or wasn't prepared for could end me. I shuddered lightly at the thought.

And then he lashed out, having a fist explode around his body and into my jaw. The force rocked me and threw me backward. When I landed with a sickening thud on the floor and slid a few inches, the gravel grinding against my shoulder blades, I didn't think of the pain. Pain barely flickered through my brain. It was just a constant flame in the back of my head, a heady glow that didn't bother me anymore. I was able to block it out, pretend it didn't exist. I did it with almost an ease, almost without trying. It was almost gone, almost dead.

The only thing I thought of when I hit the stone was that he had gotten the better of me.

His body was suddenly atop mine. The shock of white hair atop his head and the piercing blue eye startled me; it seemed as though he'd torn his mask off quicker than I could register. One knee was on either side of my hips and he laid his pelvis flush against mine. Suddenly, I felt his lips at my throat.

"Always expect the unexpected," he whispered. Then, he kissed my skin lightly. Swiftly and silently, he worked his way upward, over my injured jaw, past the corner of my mouth, and he was at my lips. Taken by surprise was definitely an understatement. In my state of being off-guard, my hands locked around his neck. I didn't know why. I didn't instruct them to. They betrayed me, clutching at the snowy tufts of tendrils there. My chest tightened in both disgust and delight. I couldn't deny the delight anymore. The attention was nice. It was nice, it was different, it was nice, it was attention. I secretly reveled in it. Of its own accord as well, my leg slowly wound around his waist.

"That's my girl," he chuckled against me. The way his torso moved against mine drove heat through my body as though a dragon had just breathed fire up my ass. My eyes closed tighter as I pushed my mouth deeper against his. He complied. The way he kissed me, the way he touched me, the way he ground against me was always different from his normal manner. Slade always went at his own pace. He did shit when he wanted to do it. Now, as his hands drifted south, down toward his favorite part of me, we were equal. We were together. We went the same speed.

But no matter how equal we were when his fingers brushed over my hips and along my inner thigh, he still insinuated it. It was still his decision. He did shit when he wanted to do it.

He'd gotten the better of me.

The stars grinned down at me as I gazed back at them. I was quite the night person, and it was becoming blatantly clear. It was an excessively cold night, too, but I lay on the roof, a sweatshirt sheathing my upper body and my short-shorts clinging to my butt. My toes must've been turning blue. My legs were trembling with shivers. Goosebumps were plaguing my skin. I didn't care. The appendages had long since gone numb. I didn't feel the cold anymore. I knew it was there; it lapped lightly at my face, turning my nose a bright cherry red. But I didn't feel it from the waist down.

I guess that was good. Slade seemed to be getting a little more…aggressive. The cold took away the pain. The numb suffocated the pain. It felt nice. It felt nice to not feel anything at all. Nothing at all for once.

I liked the stars. They were nice. They were pretty. It didn't feel like I was alone. Of course, I probably was. I mean, how many other girls were apprentice/sex slaves to a crazy psycho Hell-bent on killing off five teenagers with abnormal super powers? I thought so.

I was alone. I was all alone. But it didn't feel like it. The light that flickered in my eyes from the stars made me feel like I wasn't alone.

I wished more than anything that I wasn't alone. It wasn't that I wanted someone else in my predicament. It was the exact opposite; I didn't want anyone to have to suffer like me. I chose this, I knew, but there was a price that I wasn't sure of. I liked living with Slade. I liked being worked. I liked my life. The sex part didn't bother me too much. But then that spiky-haired boy stumbled into my life and ripped my heart out. That was the price that had been invisible to me at the time. That was the price that now I wasn't sure if I could pay.

It was baffling, really. I didn't understand how someone I barely knew could have me thinking this way so quickly. It took Slade months to begin to rub off on me. How could this random kid alter me so completely, change me so clearly? I guess it was unnerving, too. I was swollen, swollen with things that I wasn't sure existed. It was uncomfortable then, as well. It was so many things that sounded so unpleasant and yet still made me feel strangely fuzzy and warm inside.

Or maybe it was making me sick and I was misinterpreting it…should I go to a doctor…?

I rubbed my eyes anxiously. This was far too confusing.

A door shut loudly. It must've been Slade. If it wasn't, I was in serious trouble.

"I don't have anything planned for you tonight," a deep voice murmured. Yep, that was Slade. "You may go into town if you like."

I tilted my head back, letting my eyes meet his. "Really?"

"Go before I change my mind," he said. He was serious; if I hesitated too long, he would decide to keep me home. "But I decide what you wear, is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," I bounced up excitedly and followed him back into the lair.

"Uh, isn't this a little…warm?" I asked tentatively. Unhappiness poked in my gut as I stared at my reflection. The discontent wasn't on my face; I masked it well. But I was certain he could see it. I didn't really care. The abomination of an outfit that I had to wear was pissing me off far more than Slade would be at my attitude.

A blue-and-white striped wool turtleneck and black skinny jeans with chestnut Uggs, complete with wool scarf and hat and thick, long jacket. It was positively hideous. Slade was seriously going overboard with all this covering-up-and-protecting-me-from-boys shit.

"You don't like it?" he said. It wasn't a question. "Then you don't have to go out."

"No, no, that's not what I—" I broke off mid-sentence. "Hold on a second." A chill flowed off of him, and I edited myself. "Hold on a second, please, Master." And I darted back into my closet.

A few minutes later, I popped back out, now happily clad in a crotch-length silk grey dress and navy jeggings. High-heeled black boots were zipped up to my knees. They were my favorite boots of all time, making my legs look so much longer. I was short. That sort of thing was important to me, though I'd never admit to him that I liked to look good for anyone other than him.

He stalked up to me. When our bodies were brushing, he reached out and lightly traced my outline, his fingers like air whispering over me. A shudder shook through me, and however subtle it was, he certainly could tell.

"I don't think so," he breathed into my hair, and took one step back. My eyes snapped open. I didn't even know they'd been closed.

"Okay, Master, sir," I eased into my bold request. "How about we try a compromise, if it so pleases you?" I dove back once more into my closet before he could answer.

When I resurfaced, he only stared at me. I hadn't a clue what he thought of my combination of the two outfits. Honestly, there wasn't a chance in Hell that I was giving up the silk dress. It was one of my favorite shirt/dresses in the world, and in general one of my favorite articles of clothing. Surprisingly enough, it looked cute and classy paired with the black skinny jeans. Of course, I ended up going with the Uggs. I was fairly certain that if I emerged in anything that made me look over five-foot-five-inches, Slade would repeal his kindness and chain me to my bed.

"Fine," he growled after a moment. The excitement in my gut nearly exploded into a billion pieces, taking me with it.

"But you will be back by ten."

My excitement plummeted.

"It's eight o'clock right now…" I said. Immediately, I wished that I could've grabbed the words right out of the air and shoved them back into my mouth. No matter how well I'd been trained, I always slipped up. No matter how hard I tried, I always tripped up. No matter how much I remind myself, I always forgot. My brain always got the better of me. I waited for him to hit me. I waited for the pain. My eyes snapped shut in preparation.

Instead, Slade's silky voice just murmured, "And your point is…?"

Ah, only the foolish don't learn from their mistakes. "My point is that I'd best be going, Master," I chirped. "Ten is fine, ten is perfect, Master." I flitted around the room as I spoke, my fingers closing around anything and everything that would sort of make sense for going out for two hours. That wasn't much. All I took was the new cell phone that glistened on my dresser (thanks, Slade, for breaking my other one), some lip balm, and my pair of fighting gloves (hey, I got to be prepared). I shoved all of them into my boot. It was really startling how rarely I had to carry a purse or bag of any sort as long as I was wearing boots…not that I ever needed a purse or bag all that often…

"Be careful," he said to me. It sure seemed silly. In a strange fit of haughtiness, I was outraged at the request. I mean, I was his apprentice. I was better than most people. Why would he ever tell _me_ to be careful?

I really needed to learn to have a brain every once in a while.

"Sure, Master," I answered. Then, before he could say anything else to me, I was out the door.

I was like a celebrity. A freaking celebrity, that's what I was like. It was crazy, let me tell you. All of the underground criminals knew about me. They had to if they knew about Slade, and if they feared Slade, they feared me. So basically, since everyone feared Slade, everyone feared me. See how that works? It wasn't complicated; it was just a simple fact of life that I had come to recognize.

See, I'd come to recognize it. I hadn't become accustomed to it. I'd just recognized it.

I sauntered up to the front door of the club. Rows upon rows of people were swaying lightly to the music that was thrumming within the sanctuary as they waited for their turn, their turn to be deemed worthy or not by the bouncer. With a quick sweeping glance, I shrugged my shoulders lightly and stalked past them. Only two protested. The rest must've assumed that I was just asking directions, just a lost little girl, for I couldn't possibly be twenty-one. I barely looked sixteen. But their tune changed once I had a word with the large black man guarding the place.

"Excuse me," I tossed him a sweet smile and tried to work my way around him.

"Whoa there, little lady," his big burly arm shot out, and I was forced to stop in my tracks. His forearm looked like the trunk of a tree. "You can't go in there."

"And why's that?" a little sass was seeping into my voice. The key to getting in, as I'd learned, was to have as much confidence as possible. Bouncers couldn't afford to live in this city on just bouncer-money. No, they had to have an aside, a second job that could bring in the cash for them. Most, if not all, relied on shifty businesses. That is to say they were criminals. Drugs, prostitutes, you name it—they probably dealt all of the above.

"Let's see some identification," he smirked at me. The small chicklets of his teeth looked pearly against the dark color of his lips.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" my hand planted onto my hip as I quirked an eyebrow at him.

He raised one back. "Oh really? Go on then, sweetie, tell me who you are."

I smiled a little. That door was as good as open.

"You ever hear of a guy named Slade?"

The smirk froze on his face, and I watched as the humor in his black eyes immediately died. For a moment, it seemed as though he was either going to burst into a sweat, burst into tears, or just plain burst. I nearly laughed out loud.

Check and mate.

"What do you know about Slade, kid?" he growled under his breath, leaning closer to me. There was the unmistakable stench of beer on his clothes, but I couldn't catch any when he spoke to me. He was sober as could be, but the aroma clung to him like a cicada. It was clear that he wished he was drunk as a skunk right now, wished that he was simply imagining a little girl standing before him, bold and brash, uttering words that she should know nothing about.

"You know about his apprentice, right?" I asked with innocence clinging to every syllable. Slowly, ever so slowly, comprehension dawned upon his brow. Even if he didn't believe me, he wasn't about to take the chance. If, by some crazy twist of fate, it turned out that I was actually the insane man's apprentice, he was in for a shitload of trouble.

"What do you want?" he snarled. Yes, yes, he knew me quite well now. He would never forget me, either. Sometimes being a crazed maniac's apprentice had its benefits, I supposed.

"I want in." The request was simple enough. He grinned widely, glad to get off the hook with such a small price.

"Yeah, sure, sure," he hiccupped in delight, pounded his fist on the door and shoved it open. "Anything for you, yeah. Get whatever you like at the bar—just tell him Barry sent you, and that you're a VIP. If he still doesn't believe you, tell him that I'll kick his ass for not doing what I say. Okay?"

"Of course," the corner of my mouth quirked up in a triumphant smile. "Thanks, Barry."

"No problem, honey," he rushed to assure me. As I entered the club, he called after me. "And tell your 'boss' I got his back on whatever goods he needs, aight? Just tell him it's Barry! Barry's got him covered!"

It was a relief when the door clanged shut. I wondered if Slade even had a clue about Barry's existence.

The club was a mass of swaying, sweaty bodies with a lot of beautiful heads attached to them. I knew this place well; it was the side of the delinquent world that had a pretty face. Only the most attractive criminals came to this club for one reason and one reason only: the amount of money it cost to get in and have a few drinks was ridiculous. Like most times in life, the good-looking people got what they wanted, and so the masterminds had a tendency to be good-looking. They were the ones with the money, they were the ones with the power, and so they liked to socialize here.

I couldn't blame them. The place was way chic, no doubt about it. Well…at least I thought it was—it was kind of so dark that it was hard to see anything. But hey, that's what was so trendy about it, right? You didn't see, you felt. It was the feel of everything that just intoxicated you. The beats were amazing, the DJs were famous, and the drinks were expensive. I wandered over to the bar, curious as to why so many people were huddled around it.

When I approached, the only thing I saw were two handsome men going shot for shot against each other. They sure drew quite a crowd, but I wasn't interested. Instead, my butt plopped onto a stool and I leaned forward.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked. He didn't even look up from the spot on the counter he was scrubbing. The creak of the seat was enough of a siren to let him know a customer had shown up.

"Barry tells me to ask for the specialty," I said, my voice cool. Cool, calm, collected, act like you own the place, that's what I tried to do. But the tenor of my voice couldn't go unnoticed. The high pitched soprano practically sliced through my own eardrums, and I knew that there was no way I could be mistaken for a twenty-one year old. Even a few people around me gave me quizzical looks.

His beady black eyes gazed up at me finally. "Barry sent you?" It wasn't quite a question. It was more of a statement than anything else. A challenge.

"That's right," I nodded once, but my knees were clacking together despite my confident façade.

"I see," he murmured. "And does he know that you're twelve years old?"

"I'm sixteen," I snapped, not bothering to hide it. Hey, I couldn't fool anyone and I knew it. "And yes, he knows it. What's it to you?"

"I'd like to go at least one more night without getting arrested, thanks."

"You won't get arrested," I smirked slightly, and I drummed my fingers casually on the shimmering surface. He cocked a dubious eyebrow at me. "I can make sure of that."

"Oh yeah? And how's that, toots?" God, he was not buying any of this. Perhaps a little persuasion was in order.

"Slade has his ways…" I left the sentence hanging. Just as I expected, his brow shot to his hairline. Just as I expected, his eyes bugged out. Just as I expected, he split into a cold sweat, little beads of water materializing at the corners of his face.

But what I didn't expect was for him to scoff.

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "Slade doesn't horse around with young girls. The only youngster he ever associates with is his cute apprentice. The two of them were here just last week to collect some debts. She's a hot little thing, she is."

I blinked once. Twice. Three times. He still didn't get the hint.

"Do I need to put the cat-suit back on to be hot again, or what?" Though it was a comfort to be certain that people didn't recognize me when I was out of costume.

He stared at me. After a few moments of the wheels turning slowly in his brain, he gasped quietly, the epiphany practically tangible. But it wasn't a happy realization, let me tell you. His face grew dark suddenly, a cloud suffocating his features, consuming every inch of his expression until it looked as though he was about to murder somebody, namely me it seemed.

"Fine," he snarled, and pushed his mouth close to my ear so that no one heard our little transfer. "Do what you want. But I'm not serving you any alcohol, you understand me? I won't be fucked over because a spoiled brat wants to grow up too fast, got it?"

I smiled sweetly at him. I understood completely. It was impossible not to. The man was nearly quivering with fear, and it obviously elicited hostile reactions in him. He was…he was…what? He was jealous of me? He was too afraid of Slade? He was suicidal in denying my every wish? No, he was smart. I knew I could push it, push him, push the point until I did get everything I could've ever asked for. I knew that I could make him liquor me up until I was stumbling out of the bar, my underwear on my head and my hair on my ass. It would only take a few simple words, simple threats that were idle at best. But I didn't. If I returned to Slade in anything less than pristine condition, just like I left, then the entire city could be blown apart as he tried to track down the shithead that messed me up.

"No problem, buddy," my tone was sweet as sugar, flawless as a sunset. "Can you get me some Pepsi, then?"

Grumbling and growling to himself, he bustled around behind and came up with a glass of the fizzy brown liquid with three ice cubes dancing amongst the bubbles. It slammed down onto the counter, clutched in his fist, and when he pulled his chubby fingers away I immediately snatched it up and took a sip. This was what I was going to ask for in the end. Alcohol wasn't my thing—it actually scared me, if I was completely honest. Going old school with some soda was what I would inevitably choose. I was a pussy.

Not two minutes after I began nursing the drink, a hand trailed around my waist.

"My, my, my," a smooth voice said. "I didn't recognize you without your body suit. This leaves so much more to the imagination." And the person slowly tucked a finger into the waistband of my jeans. I had the urge to simply jump out of my skin, but I remained icy. Within a blink, a breath, my fingers latched onto the wrist that was within breaking distance, and I whipped around to face my molester.

Okay, that's harsh. He didn't exactly molest me. But the touch was most certainly not welcomed.

I was thoroughly unsurprised to see the sea-green eyes and messy brown hair of a super villain that I knew oh too well.

"What do you want, Red X?" I sighed. Exasperation seeped into my tone, and I didn't bother to hide it. He deserved it. The worst part was that he knew he pissed me off, drove me insane, and that's what he delighted in the most. He was so annoying.

"Leave off the X when we're out, baby," he murmured, stare glinting. "It's so much less formal."

"Yeah, okay," I shook the come-on away with a wave of my hand. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"Figured now was as good a time as any to try my luck," he sidled up next to me on a stool placed a little too close for comfort. "Seeing as Slade actually let you into the outside world for once in your short years."

"I should've stayed home," I quipped. He inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth that he left exposed in a smile.

"Ooh, ouch," he chuckled softly and mock-wiped his brow. My eyes narrowed. "That one hurt, babe." Then, he meaningfully eyeballed the set of fingers that were still wrapped around the base of his hand. With a horrific start, I realized they belonged to me. "This, on the other hand, feels quite nice."

"Unless you want it broken, I suggest you don't touch me again."

He smirked. "I can't promise anything like that."

"Then it's your life," I let him slip away from my grasp. Angry red imprints beamed back at me, a clear signal of a job well done.

"And it's the one thing I'm not willing to gamble with," he knocked three times on the wood of the counter, and the bartender immediately placed a clear liquid in front of him. "But we'll see if you can change that."

"Seriously, Red, why are you bugging me?" I was sick and tired of his games, sick of seeing his face. Well…his albeit attractive face, but still. It was his face. And I was done with it.

He caught my gaze with his, stared directly into my dark brown irises. There was nothing—no fear, no hesitation, no restriction as he tried to read my mind with his green orbs. My heart thumped unevenly. The worst part was I didn't know why.

"It's no secret, Bailey," he raised an eyebrow slightly. "I think you're hot. I like your style. I like your attitude. I'm just taking a shot here, okay? I'm not going to beat around the bush or pretend otherwise. You're damn sexy, and two sexy people should give each other a try."

A beat of silence, and then I sighed with a slight roll of my eyes. "Nice to see that modesty of yours shining through, as always."

"Hey, if you got it, work it," Red tossed me a crooked smile. It was…it was nice. It was attractive. I couldn't lie. But the words that came out of the nice and attractive smile were vile and disgusting, and they absolutely made me want to rip my hair out from the very ends. The cocky little bastard was really not going anywhere, was he?

"And it's no secret that you annoy the living fuck out of me," I snapped at him. He laughed once, grinning to himself. "Now why don't you go rob a bank or something?"

Suddenly, his full lips pursed together as he clearly mulled over an idea that whipped into his head. A sinking feeling seized my chest. Shit, shit, shit, this could not end well. This was obviously going to involve me, and he was the last person that I wanted to get involved with, the last person that I wanted to be around, the last person I wanted to go within one hundred feet of danger with. Being near him was like leaping out of a plane with no parachute.

"You know…" he mumbled. "That's not a half bad idea…"

"…You're not really going to rob a bank."

"Nah, nah, that's good! Red X isn't picky about where his money comes from, and this would be a great way to show the cops just that! You know, they've been lurking around places that I keep wanting to hit because they think they've got me figured out, see. They think I only go after the valuable crap. But if I hit up a bank, that'll totally throw them off. You're great, Bailey!"

"I try," I sneered, sarcasm practically dripping from each word. "Now run off and be a petty little thief."

"Okay, I'll meet you outside in five." And he leapt out of his seat and bounded toward the exit.

"Yeah, yeah, sure—say what?" I screeched after him, but the thrumming beat of some delirious Ke$ha song drowned out my cries. What the fuck was he talking about? In two seconds, I was stomping in his wake, steam practically filtering out of my ears. Barry tried to say something to me, tried to play nice with me, and I almost round-house kicked him right in his fat lips.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Red came whipping around the turn on his motorcycle and came to a screeching, blaring halt right beside the curb. I openly gaped. He was not serious.

The smile that was plastered onto his face said that he was dead serious.

"I'm not getting on that thing," I deadpanned. His beaming aura fell slightly.

"You want to walk, or what?" he peered at his bike a little, wondering whether or not there was something wrong with it, something that turned me off to the simply _brilliant_ idea that he stumbled across. Oh wait, it was my idea! Man, I'm stupid.

"I'm not robbing a bank," I hissed at him, and I thought the little stamp of my foot was a good punctuation mark. But apparently it wasn't enough.

He smirked at me. "What, Sladey-poo doesn't need any money? Or does he want things done his way, only his way, the whole time? You going to grow a backbone or what?"

"If I do this, Slade will _break_ my backbone," I snarled. It was a perfectly legitimate answer, a perfectly reasonable and truthful answer. But something wriggled in the back of my mind, and I couldn't seem to get it to be quiet. In fact, it began to wail, began to cry and weep and sob and kick and just make a whole mess out of my thought process. It kept screaming that this was a chance, my chance to try. My chance to get into shit that I didn't know shit about, my chance to stir up shit, my own shit for once. The thought was tempting, and the prospect of it all going as planned was tantalizing at least.

Red shrugged, ducked beneath his shoulder for a brief second, and shoved on his signature mask. I didn't look away from him for a spit-second.

"Whatever you want, kid," he shrugged nonchalantly. "But let me know when you're interested in a little freedom." He revved the bike once, twice. If nothing came from my mouth this second, he was going to leave, he was going to rip off into the night and leave me there in the dust. My chances would be rubble at my feet.

"Wait," I hollered over the grumbling of the engine, and my palm fell lightly onto his leather-clad shoulder.

**A/N: Wowww it's been a long time. Sorry to the few readers I have! Summer is FINALLY here, I FINALLY pushed the "Pause" button on my iPod (Eminem's new CD, ****Recovery****, is literally the most amazing, most flawless album I've ever heard. It just makes me tear up to talk about it. I'm so proud of him; literally I can't even articulate how thrilled I am) and I FINALLY have some time. Anyway, this is a little change from the normal thing, but we'll get back to the Titans soon, don't you worry.**

**Can I please just say that Secretlovers review is the single greatest thing I've ever read in my life? Like seriously, I think I love you. That almost made me cry! You made my summer, no joke! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

_I can't believe I'm doing this_, Bailey thought to herself. _I simply cannot believe I'm doing this_.

"Hey!" a voice called out over the roar of the motorcycle. She peered forward, and Red X was glancing at her from over his shoulder. "You may want to hold on. You know, just in case you decide to go falling off and all."

She glared at him. "You really think I of all people would fall off?"

"Just watching out for you," he claimed with a shrug and a smirk. Sure, the words themselves were sugar, but then he revved the engine and swerved hard this way and that, the wheels teetering beneath the hunk of machinery. Bailey found her arms flying around the closest thing to keep balance, and said thing just happened to be the boy driving the damn thing.

"I hate you," she snarled into his ear.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he cackled loudly, and hit the gas harder. She didn't know what bank they were going to; hell, this city was full of rich people that needed about three banks to keep all their bills safe and sound, including a few over in Sweden. But from the looks of things, she'd guess that they were headed to Jump City United, obviously the biggest bank in the tri-state area. As they approached it, the buildings grew larger, the streets grew cleaner, and the windows grew sparklier as everything seemed to just become more upscale. Yes, they were certainly going to try to hit it where it hurt, which was in the most loaded single location in perhaps the state.

She had no clue why he was going straight from zero to one hundred; it seemed kind of dumb for him to just jump right into it with no build-up. He wasn't even the bank-robbing type—hell, had he ever even actually robbed one before? She assumed so, as that was where most criminals started. But still, this seemed too bizarre. If he had put just an ounce of thought into any of this, he would realize that he should at least work his way up.

But then it came to her that she was dealing with Red X. Not only did he never put any thought into anything, but his ego most likely wouldn't have let him go for anything less.

She was so screwed.

"What have I done?" she whimpered to herself, letting her forehead fall against his back.

It wasn't long before they screamed to a halt in the parking lot. So this was how they were going to go about it? Just barge right in? She marveled at his lack of tact, his lack of planning, the complete disregard he had for anything that could perhaps protect his own ass from getting thrown into jail if they were caught. His helmet came off and he hopped off the bike.

"Ready to rock and roll?" he smirked at her before yanking his mask on over his shaggy dark hair. The glare that she threw him did nothing to quell the excitement she could practically see like an aura that was emanating from him.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she growled. "And with you of all people. You'd think I'd risk my butt for someone a little more important in my life."

"What, like Sladey-poo?" he mocked her through the white, cold protection that sheathed his face. "Sweetie, you've got one life. You want to live it up or not? You never seemed like the kind of person that would just sit back and be whipped. I dug that about you. But you know…" He shrugged nonchalantly, practically yelling what-a-shame.

She sneered at him. "Get the fuck out of my way."

It was a good thing she couldn't see the complacent smile that drew onto his lips just then.

Anger rippled off of her as she stalked past him and toward the doors. He followed in her steam-filled wake with a meander that drew both adjectives of "jackass" and "sexy" to mind. She didn't dare look back at him. If she did, she knew she would've kicked his teeth in for being such a dick. Honest to God, she wasn't doing this for him; this just happened to be the first opportunity to present itself, the first real sliver of hope of doing something that _she_ wanted. It was juvenile, to be sure, but she couldn't afford to think of that right now, not as she hopped up the steps and the guards shifted their positions to the ready.

Two sets of big guns were aimed at her face. Big-ass guns.

"State your business," one demanded. She only cocked an eyebrow at him, and just as she was about to make a go for him, she noted that the other guard's gun was trembling. When her gaze shifted over to him, the machine immediately began to shake harder.

"Sir," she heard him hiss. "Sir, that's Slade's apprentice!"

God, nothing was a secret anymore!

"I know," the first one returned with a hard voice. It took her by surprise. "It doesn't matter. State your business!" he called to her again.

_Interesting…_ she thought quietly to herself. Never had she really been so directly insulted before. Her thighs tensed, ready to spring, but a presence was suddenly beside her—she felt the cape whisper against her calf.

"You two seem awfully willing to help," Red X said casually, his stance relaxed and cool. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that his arms were hanging loosely by his side, his weight was transferred onto one leg, the epitome of ease, and here she was, a coiled wire. "Perhaps you could indeed be of assistance."

"We won't ask you again," the first guard yelled. "State. Your. Business!"

Oh, how the second guard's gun was wobbling. He had probably never seen such infamous and deadly criminals in the same place, least of all working together. Red X and that little Slade chick were the worst in Jump City aside from Slade himself. Red had the abandon and carelessness that made him practically unreadable and the girl was just a trained killing machine. He'd seen it himself; she'd hardly even blinked when she'd killed six policemen trying to break into a maximum-security office. And it took her no time flat. He had a feeling he'd remember that youthful, cold face for the rest of his life.

"Alright, settle down," Red X chortled. "If you insist. See, we want that money in there. If you could just bring it all out to us, that would really be great. It would save us a lot of trouble."

Both of the guards froze. The blatant ask for the money was probably the last thing either expected. In fact, they had trouble not bursting out into laughter. But obviously, doing such a thing would have gotten their arteries cut before they could quell the guffaws, and so their lungs stayed quiet as they glared at the criminals.

"That _would_ be nice," the first guard said, his gun still steady. "But I'm afraid we can't do that." And he cocked the hammer.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Red X looked to the girl with such a friendly gaze that all the other three present stared at him, baffled. "Would you like to do the honors, or should I?"

She blinked once, twice, thrice, but then her stance eased up, and she crossed her arms. A look of thick defiance graced her lovely face, raised an eyebrow, she was certainly enjoying herself right about now. It would be nice to just hang back, let someone else do the work for once. Yes, for once she would not have to get her hands dirty. "You know, I think you've got this one handled."

He grinned a tight smile at her. "With pleasure."

Before the guards could reason what was going on, Red X slipped his fingers into his belt, yanked out two X blades, and let them fly like Frisbees. They exploded from his hands and raked along the throats of the men. Hollow clatters shattered the quiet as their metal guns slammed to the ground, victims of gravity.

"Well, that was nice," Bailey mused aloud. "I didn't have to do a thing."

"No, perhaps your energy is best saved for later, hmm?" he sauntered forward, collected his little death tools, and winked suggestively at her. She scoffed in disgust, but followed him into the bank. They were even able to pluck the keys from the guards and enter with zero problems. The doors swung open, the darkness just inside beckoned to them, this would be easier than she could've ever dreamed. Danger was out of the question, tucked away in the shadows for another day, oh what a treat—

The second his black foot touched the tile, the alarm began to wail.

"Fucking shit!" he choked as he leapt backward. She was infinitely startled as well, but as she was searching for the source of the noise, a movement caught the corner of her eye.

"Move!" she cried, grabbed his wrist, and dove forward. The doors erupted shut, closing just where the two had been standing. From their place on the ground, the two gazed hazily at the heavy white slabs of wood. That was certainly some fancy technology they had there.

"Thanks," he sighed. "We've got to get out of here." They stood.

"Don't move."

That voice was recognizable to her anywhere.

Bailey slowly turned, her limbs quivering, and when her massive chocolate eyes fell upon him, she couldn't breathe. There he stood in the window, the moonlight showering his back, and he looked beautiful. His raven-colored hair, his hard jaw, his muscled body, his be-masked eyes—her chest tightened as she looked at him, she'd never felt the tingles that scorched through her body. Bolts of electricity practically bled from her fingertips as she lingered upon him, and the only thing she could've ever wished for was to throw herself at him and kiss him into a daze. But she knew she couldn't. And so she stayed dutifully in place.

"Well, isn't this a nice surprise?" Red X drawled. Tension rolled off of him, she picked it up immediately.

"Petty, Red X," Robin shook his head, his glare cold and angry. "So petty. I expected a bit more from you…" his gaze drifted lazily to her for a small second, hardly there, and yet the chills she got from it made her catch her breath. "Much more."

"Unfortunately, Bird Boy," he threw his cape away from his body and launched toward the young boy. "You don't know my motivations."

"No!" Bailey gasped, literally gasped, she couldn't find the wind to utter anything louder. Robin heard. He merely glanced at her, furrowed his brow lightly, and then took a tiny step to the right. Next thing she knew, Starfire came exploding from the window, starbolts already in full force. Glass rained down around them, splintering onto the hard tiled floor. Red X took six to the chest, she could almost listen to the sounds of crackling ribs, nearly felt a little pang of guilt as he fell to the ground. One, two steps toward him were all she could bring herself to do. Quickly, she realized she'd lost track of that boy, the only person in this God damned place that mattered.

Suddenly, a green rhino came charging through the window next, its horn aimed directly at her breast. The speed it was carrying was slightly remarkable, but she simply stood there, ready to land a kick right in between its eyes, perhaps fracture the skull a little to teach it a lesson. The hooves thundered as it charged toward her. Good, good, she could use a fight, release some of her anger. That was the best therapy, wasn't it, the perfect antidote, right? Hadn't Slade taught her well.

And then it pulled up to a halt just as instantly as it had been slamming after her.

A hand slipped around her waist, pressed her to a solid body behind her.

"Don't. Move. A muscle," that voice whispered softly into her ear. The warm breath blew over her skin, she very nearly fainted into him, passed out into the arm that was holding her so gently and yet so securely. It was clear that she had no way to escape—she knew that she could elbow him in the gut, punch him in the face, and leap out the window…but she knew that she couldn't do that. He knew it, too. And so he dragged his nose lightly along the short distance from the end of her jaw line to just behind her earlobe.

Lights flashed behind her eyelids as she struggled to not collapse to her knees. She was dangerously close to having a breakdown, turning into a pile of nothingness at his metal-clad feet—

And then she realized.

She was within seconds of being caught.

"Please," she stammered breathily. "Please, let me go."

"I can't do that," he responded.

She heard a siren in the distance, but it was rapidly approaching.

"I'm literally begging you," she spoke quickly and quietly, and he watched the green reflection of firing starbolts shimmer in her beautiful, endless eyes. "You have to let me go. Please, just this once."

"I can't do that," he repeated. He had no idea how smooth, how silken he sounded, because inside he was screaming. The terror that was dripping from every word she spoke, the horror that impregnated every breath from the torso he was clutching made him want to take her into his grasp and escape with her. Never mind that he was holding her, holding her so close, the closeness he'd desired from the beginning was right here against him. He only wanted to give her whatever she wanted, and she was asking for something that he simply couldn't deliver. He was dying.

Oh God, she was in serious trouble now.

"You have to," she was practically sobbing now.

"I can't," he said.

Red and blue flashing lights took turns battling on the walls of the bank.

"You have no idea what Slade'll do to me."

"I'll protect you."

Shouting voices quarreled outside.

"Please, please, don't do this to me."

"I have to."

Footsteps shuffled and ran up the steps.

"Please. I need this."

He paused.

Her heart hammered.

"I'm sorry," he said.

The door burst open.


	6. Chapter 6

He watched her closely, knowing that she couldn't see him. She paced back and forth, back and forth, practically wearing ruts into the cement floor with her booted feet. Her hands were twitching, her shoulders were hunched, her eyes were wide and shifting every which way each second. She looked positively a wreck. Even long strands of her beautiful golden hair were tangled and woven into each other as they splayed around her shoulders. There was a wild air to her, a new, fresh instinct of survival that bled through her carefully constructed exterior.

He knew he was seeing her now. He was really seeing her. He was seeing her in full-blown panic mode, and he'd never witnessed anything like it. The girl honestly looked like a mental patient; her main activity was pacing, but every now and again, she would either attack one of the foreboding walls or simply plop herself down onto the ground and tuck her knees into her chest. Thinking. He knew she was thinking when she took a seat on the floor. She was pondering the best way to make a break for it. The only problem was that there was no exit, none that she could get to, and he knew that she knew this as well. She wasn't stupid. On the contrary; she was very smart. How she got mixed up with Slade, he'd never know.

He continued to watch her, his nerves on end. The last thing he wanted was for her to hurt herself, and that was growing increasingly obvious that it was the only choice left. Shimmering in her eyes was the notion that the only way to escape Slade's wrath was to off herself, and that he would most likely do it anyway.

Then, out of nowhere, she threw herself at the door, the one with the one-way window, the one he was peering through.

"Please!" she shrieked. She truly looked like a rabid animal. "Please, whoever's out there, you've got to let me out! Please!"

He jumped backward, shocked and startled. The fight-or-flight response was triggered, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through him, making him lash out. But he halted his punch halfway to the door when he recognized that there was nothing she could do, no way she could harm him. She was simply desperate. And she was acting on any half-baked idea that whipped into her brain.

A part of him did indeed want to let her out. Seeing the utterly distraught look on her precious face made him want to rip the door off and take her away, run away with her into the snowy night. But of course, he couldn't do that. He did think about trying it, but he didn't. Either the authorities would snatch him up before he got anywhere, or Slade and he would have a major confrontation, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. Not yet, not when it concerned her. The blind anger that he felt whenever he thought of the girl being anywhere near his clutches surged up inside him, and he knew he would positively beat the crap out of anyone that would have tried to stop him. Not a very good idea with innocent people around.

So no, he couldn't just grab her and bolt. This seemed to be the safest place for her, and this was where she would have to remain.

Fury replaced desperation on her face, and with a shrill cry of distress, she lashed out at the door, trying to shatter it. Using her most powerful weapon—her legs, her strong, sturdy legs—she kicked and shoved at the slab of iron with all her might. Perhaps if she'd found any purchase, any whatsoever, that would have calmed her down; having the idea that there was a slight chance of escape was better than the certainty of none, and when the door didn't budge, not an inch, a new wave of terror washed over her. The attacks went into double time.

"Please!" she called again with a kick.

"Please!" _Kick_.

"Let!" _Slam_.

"Me!" _Punch_.

"OUT!" and once again, she launched herself at the door, fingers grabbing onto any ledge they could snag. He stood completely and utterly still and stared at her. When no one came to free her, she let her forehead wilt onto the glass pane that would've simply looked like a mirror to her and a curse slipped from her lips. A small scraping sound seeped through the cracks, and she placed her feet back onto the floor to resume pacing. Her hands wrung each other, and he saw thick, brilliant smears of scarlet blood painted in tracks where she clutched at her skin. She'd cut herself up with all the rash outbursts on the rough, cracked, stone walls

He didn't hesitate. The door flew open in front of him and he barged in, careful to close it behind him. Poking into his hipbone was the key that would let him out whenever he needed it, but for right now, he was in the cavern of the beast. Her head snapped up to look at him.

"Robin!" she gasped. It was the first time he'd heard her say his name in his company. A little tingle ran through his veins, and he hardly realized it when she dove for him. He made no move to get out of her way, and even if he did, it would have been in vain. She strangled the edges of his cape that graced his collar and pulled him right into her face. Immediately, he was blinded by her lovely features.

"Robin, you _have_ to let me out," she pleaded with everything she had, forcing her insane eyes larger and larger as if to express the dire need. "Robin, he's going to come, he will hurt you, he will hurt all of us, he will take me, I need to get back! You need to let me go, Robin. Robin, you've got to, you…Robin, you just…you…Robin…" She began to pant, her chest heaving forward and in erratically, and he felt her warm breath swath his skin in delicious heat.

Seven. That was the number he memorized for later resurrection. She'd said his name seven times in the last thirty seconds. He loved it.

Unconsciously, without his decision, _very much_ without his decision, his arms closed around her waist. It was exactly like when he'd caught her: he had a massive urge to wet himself. Sure, he was eighteen, but that didn't make a difference. He couldn't think of any way—any way at all—that he could express just how psychotic holding her made him. She set everything, everything inside him afire, and he couldn't hold it in, but what was the release? There was none. Wetting himself or breaking down into tears just seemed like the next best thing. Boy Wonder hardly knew what tears felt like, so it seemed that the first was the better option.

But he didn't. He controlled his bladder for the time being, although the second he left the room, he would need to go darting to the little boy's room.

"No one's going to hurt you," he murmured into that silk hair of hers as he pressed her body into him. "I promise. He's not getting anywhere near you."

He had no clue where all this confidence had come from. There had never been a day in his life where he'd treated anything of the female persuasion with this much care, this much charisma, not even Starfire, who he thought piqued his interest. It just seemed that he was utterly void of charm in any way, shape, or form. And yet here he was, letting the strands of gold tickle his cheek and her hot exhalations wash over his neck. He liked having her face tucked into the curve in his collarbone. She felt safe. That was what often made him sick; he worried constantly about what sort of tyrannical things Slade could be doing to her. Feeling her warm form in his care…he tried to remember something that felt better, and he came up with positively nothing.

"I…" he heard her choke into his chest. Her grip on his cape seemed to loosen, to relax to a manageable, normal tightness. The tempo of her breathing decreased, and he could've sworn he felt the tension swim out of her and disappear into the air.

"Now sit down," he guided her down to the floor, had her take a seat on the cold cement. "Give me your hands."

She offered her damaged appendages to him hesitantly; they were still shaking and vibrating even as he took them into his grasp. Much care was taken to keep his hold on them nice and loose so as not to startle her. It was obvious that she was still at the very ends of her nerves, and if he jarred her at all, she could explode like a firecracker. Movements were slow, steady as he smeared calming salve onto a long strip of gauze that he'd freed from his utility belt. He'd always prided himself on being completely prepared, and if he was caught without medical supplies, that would've been a plain embarrassment to him.

"Hold still," Robin commanded, and wrapped each of her hands up to the second knuckle after spraying them with disinfectant. Then he finished them off with a healthy, tight round of ace bandaging. He couldn't find any water to wash the existing blood away, so he had to settle for letting it clot and dry before cleaning her up. Not only were there good amounts of the red liquid inked into the grey material that sheathed her chest, but little dollops had also found their way to where she'd snatched his cape.

"Thanks," she stammered. Her eyes hadn't left him the entire time, and when he looked at her, he found her massive chocolate orbs pinned to him. He was captivated instantly.

"No problem," he coughed as he tried to shatter the entrancement by looking down, grabbing her hands again. But he found it quite near impossible to avoid the gaze when she forced it upon him, kept her focus on his reddening face.

And so he gave in. With a smile, he held up her small palms. "Now would you quit hurting yourself? I don't want anyone thinking I abused you or something."

She grinned back at him. But then her face was abruptly quite serious. "Robin, I need to get back."

"I can't do that," he said for what felt like the millionth time in the last two hours. The only thing he wanted was for her to give up that notion, because he really couldn't; his feelings aside, she was still a criminal. There was no other option.

"Please?" she begged, and her hands seemed to just stumble onto his thighs just above his knees. Warmth exploded from where she touched him, and his mind immediately flew to areas where he'd never been before, areas that would normally have had him ducking his head in embarrassment if he'd ever heard anyone speak such suggestiveness. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help but wonder where those hands could travel next, what else they were capable of.

Oh, he was certainly tempted to say yes.

"Bailey, I _can't_," he insisted. "You've got to understand that."

"And you need to understand that I could die!" she looked very near tears; they glistened on her lashes, winked in the harsh light that bled from the bulbs above their heads. "I could die if he ever retrieved me. I don't…I don't want to die, I'm not ready for that!"

"He won't hurt you," he repeated, grabbed her shoulders vehemently. She was crazily enticed to believe him. But her head just bowed in defeat, her tresses slipped over her collar and draped around her face like torrential downpours of sunrays. Guilt tickled and teased his tummy, but he pushed it away, shoved it into the dark as he stood. There was nothing he could do. He felt bad, but there was no choice.

He opened the door, paused in the doorway.

"He won't come near you," he growled with his back to her. She peeked through her short side-bangs. "I promise."

And then he left.

A man that vaguely resembled a security guard caught his eye.

"You!" Robin called. He started, looked up, as though he was about to be shot. "Are you part of security?"

"Yes, sir," he stammered. There was a bright red tinge to his cheeks, and his fingers were sewing themselves together. Sweat trickled along his forehead, and he could see that this nervous young fellow was fresh to the regime. But he didn't care. If he didn't get the orders done, he would be gone from the regime as soon as he'd been taken on.

"Get all the backup you can get," he barked. "And I don't mean just in here. I mean in the entire city. I want all Jump City police here, and I want them here now, do you understand me?"

"Y-yes s-s-sir," he peeped, turned and scurried away. Another man strode out from the hallway that the small man had just slipped down like a snake. A thick black mustache hooded his upper lip, but the crown of his head was completely void of any hair at all.

"What do we need the extra coverage for?" he asked gently. Captain Reynolds was never the sort to get defensive, and he and Robin knew each other well; they'd often worked together on many an investigation, if only for brief periods where Robin came to collect the information files. The captain had also learned to trust the boy far more than most of his staff. But right now, the raven-haired kid looked at him like he was positively insane.

"Do you realize who you have in here?" he gestured wildly to the door where he'd just come out of. "That's Slade's apprentice. I won't have him getting anywhere near her, so unless you've got some sort of Slade-Away spray that I don't know about, we're going to need help. And we need them here fast." He continued on his way. "Slade'll be here any minute."

Within twenty minutes, the entirety of the police force was crowded into the small but efficient jail on the outskirts of the town. Guns and weapons of the like were scattered everywhere, nearly every pair of hands clutched a metal machine. News of the girl's capture bled through the ears of people like water along a brook, and hardly anyone cared about the Red X capture. The fact that Slade's young apprentice, the youthful chick that had always outsmarted everyone since day one, had been wrangled down was such a scandal that many had to come see for themselves. Of course, they weren't let in the door, but they certainly tried. Many women and men had approached Robin and, after getting over their star-struck infatuations, attempted to convince him that they were her parents, to which he snapped: "She has no parents."

Night clung to the sky, a blanket of black wool. The stars certainly were brilliant in the thick, late hour, and the moon was shining like nothing before. It was beautiful, he couldn't ignore that. But the beauty was soon shattered.

At three-o'clock AM, a thundering explosion tore the west wall of the jail open. Robin went sprinting toward it, as did many brave police officers.

"WHERE IS SHE?" a voice roared, and the smoke curtains parted just enough for the masked boy to catch the beige-and-black face of a certain super villain. But it seemed that he wasn't to be the main attraction. Wave upon wave of Slade-bots dribbled in, one set after the other, taking men and women alike under their current of diseased robotics. Their claw-like fingers scrabbled at the sides of the walls, they clattered along in their metal suits of armor, drowned anything and anyone that dared come within sight. Without hesitation, Robin turned and flew toward her jail cell.

It took him not thirty seconds to arrive. It wasn't a long trip, but it felt to him like a dream, the one where he tries to run to the end of the hallway and yet he could never reach it, could never pick up speed, and the corridor always elongated itself just out of his reach. But this time, this time his gloved fingers clamped down on the handle, and after he unlocked it, he threw the door open. A terrified Bailey was curled up in the center of the floor. Her head snapped up to gape at him.

"He's here," she gasped, sounding like she was giving birth more than anything. "He's here, isn't he? Oh God, he's come for me, oh no, oh no, oh no—"

"Come with me," the boy commanded, threw out his hand in offering. She didn't think about it; her palm clapped into his, and he yanked her up. In the blink of an eye, her legs were laid over his forearm, and his other arm was supporting her shoulder blades. The thought of a groom carrying a bride over the threshold shocked her mind for a brief second, and an insatiable need to swoon fogged her vision. But soon they were careening down the hallway. Her hip was pressed into the crevice in his chest, and she hardly felt a jar at all as he ran. His slim, muscled legs flung out in long strides as he busted toward her safety.

He went the other way. The complete opposite way of the entrance was where he took her, but she soon understood why; he was going against the flow of everyone else, and everyone else was going toward the scene of infestation. Of course, of course, if he went back that way they would be caught. But still….there was no exit out the back. What was he thinking?

The corridor ended, an abrupt wall at the extremity. Robin didn't hesitate; his foot lashed out, shattered the window that laminated the dark night, and a tinkling that sounded like bells chorused as the shards collapsed to the ground. The blackness swarmed in, but not without the company of the stars.

He hopped up onto the ledge and jumped out onto the roof.

The outside was dead silent and frigid. Goosebumps ravaged her skin, bit at her fingers and nipped at her arms. She shoved herself deeper still into his hold, and he seemed to grasp her tighter…but she was sure she was just imagining it. But Robin had indeed pressed her more to his body, although it wasn't a conscious effort; his senses were on high alert, and his innate protection instincts told him tighter, hold her tighter, don't let her go, the snow will swallow her up.

But it wasn't the snow he had to worry about. Not completely. In fact, it helped greatly, and he should have thanked it. It enabled him to hear the light footsteps that were trailing him closely.

"So," a voice said softly, far closer than he could've expected. "You're the one with my apprentice. I should have guessed."

Robin jumped around, but didn't drop her. "It's over, Slade. You're not getting her again." But through all his bravado, he was kicking himself, knowing that he should have known that he would have been on the roof. How much easier it would be to see all points of the jail, any way of exit, he would be able to attack the second he saw the blonde head of his missing girl.

Instead of banter, he could practically see the villain turning red with fury.

"How dare you?" he growled, sliding into the attack position. "She is _mine_. I do think you're underestimating what I'll do to get her back."And he lashed out at the boy. He only had time to throw her into the snow before the heel met his face. If she hadn't been in his arms, she had no doubt that he would have been able to block the attack, but instead it collided full force with his cheek—his perfect, flawless cheek.

"Robin!" she gasped so quietly, and with her hands cupped over her mouth in horror, Slade couldn't hear her.

He didn't falter. He may have staggered, and certainly pain flowed like a brook through his body, but he drew himself up to full height, dignity oozing from his pores. There was no chance he would go down without a fight, and this thought scared the living crap out of her. And he had never been the type to run away.

"And I think you're underestimating what I'll do to keep her from you," he spat back. With a hiss of anger, Slade charged at him—very un-Slade like, she thought, very sloppy—but he was ready. With the second kick that came toward him, Robin withdrew his fighting staff and smacked it against the calf, shoved it away, and followed up with a kick of his own. Of course, the man was prepared, snagging the sole with his palm easily enough. But what he wasn't prepared for was the follow-up attack, and his staff met his throat with a resounding _thunk_ that sent Slade reeling. Robin immediately slammed the staff repeatedly against his head, taking the moments of weakness to thrust a fist into his gut, jab a knee into his chest, and deliver another roundhouse straight into the center of his face.

The man's back hit the ground, and he didn't stir.

"Come on," he threw her over his shoulder and began to run, ignoring the certainty in his mind that Slade could not have gone down that easily—there wasn't time to worry. It was effortless for him to grasp onto the metal gutter and slide down without a problem. His boots hit the ground with a crunch of snow. The R-cycle was waiting patiently for them outside the jail, parked in a parking spot as neat as could be, and he hopped on it now. She slid from his shoulder and positioned herself behind him on the bike. It was automatic, simply a reaction, to close her arms around his waist. He hadn't told her to, but he didn't need to.

The ride to wherever they were going was soundless. Her head somehow found its way onto his back, though, and she was comfortable. For some reason, her spirits were soaring as she thought about not having to go back to the lair. She wouldn't be beaten tonight. She wouldn't be trained tonight. She wouldn't be touched tonight. She didn't know what _would_ come of tonight, but she was fairly certain that she wouldn't wake up with bruises. At least, she hoped she wouldn't.

Her eyelids became quite heavy, and it seemed like they were only closed a second before the form beneath her was moving.

"Here, I got you," Robin—she could always tell it was Robin—said, and slipped his hands beneath her arms to press her body to his. He completely ignored the shudders he got from having her in such close proximity, from having her warmth mingle with his, because this was business. This was serious. As he looked up at the massive windowed T that towered above him, he pondered the pros and cons to inviting a criminal into his abode. But then her weary skull rested on his shoulder, accompanied by weakening knees, and he honestly, completely thought that she, on her own at least, would cause very little trouble. He dragged her toward the door. Her feet made little caverns in the white precipitation that matted the ground.

There was only a short ride in the elevator, and soon they were standing in the living room. Every member of the team was there, and they responded to the opening of the doors.

"Welcome home, Rob—" Starfire rushed to greet him, but halted abruptly when she saw the person hanging from him. Her green eyes flashed dangerously, and the stand-off-ish tenseness in her slim body couldn't have been mistaken.

"Who. Is that." Raven murmured dangerously.

"Look, guys—" but he didn't get a chance to explain himself.

"What were you thinking, man?" Cyborg got right in his face, jabbed a finger at his nose. "Why the heck would you bring the chick here? She attracts Slade anywhere she goes, and I don' know 'bout you, but I don't want him hanging around here like a virus."

"Agreed," Starfire chirped. "Why do we not return her to the prison?"

"I'm with Star," Beast Boy was looking positively murderous as he glared at the girl. "She's a criminal, dude. We don't house criminals."

This got Robin mad. "And what was Terra, huh? What was she?"

The room went quiet. Everyone's eyes nearly slipped from their heads, they stared at him so hard. A low blow, he knew, but that had riled him up; who was Beast Boy to talk, anyway? They should've been on each other's sides, in all reality, but it seemed that the green boy had been embarrassed by the apprentice one too many times.

"Listen, everyone," Robin started again. "I know, okay? I don't like that she's here anymore than you do. But if we don't keep her from Slade, she'll be the same as she's always been." He looked down at her face, her lids closed in drowsiness as she flitted sporadically from semi-consciousness to slumber. "We can't just leave her. She's got a chance. I believe in her." And he did.

Raven looked disgusted. Her large violet eyes were narrowed. "The minute Slade comes, she's gone."

Everyone turned to gape at the quiet girl. Hardly a soul there expected her to accept the child willingly with simply an explanation from the leader; she was just not that kind of person. She didn't throw hissy fits, but everyone knew when she was angry or discontented, and while unhappiness was smeared on her face, she had relented in her distaste. She instead floated off to her room to do God knows what (though no one ever bothered to ask anymore. They figured it was much easier to let her be).

"I know," he said, even though she'd gone. "I'm not going to put this team at risk for her. That's not my plan."

"Then what _is_ your plan?" Cyborg crossed his arms over his barrel chest. "What do you think she'll be good for? Look, dawg, I don't want to interrogate you or anything," he stepped forward slightly, trying to show that he was not interested in a stand-off, "but I just wanna know what's goin' on in that spiky head of yours."

"I don't know!" Robin responded with emphasis again for what seemed like the trillionth time that night.

"Then what _do_ you know?" Starfire spoke up. Three pairs of eyes glanced at her, and she was staring morosely at the Boy Wonder. The girl drooping at his side looked like a growth to her, a plague that needed to be eliminated, but even she wasn't naïve to the protective, secure manner in which he pinned her waist to his. Growth or not, he wasn't giving her up. Despite their opinions, despite his common sense, despite everything that could go wrong, he would not let her leave. There were too many risks.

"Not much," he admitted, trying to quiet his annoyance. Why couldn't they just trust him? They had so many times before, countless dangerous occasions, and now they were flinging him out the window. "It's just for a little while. But I have to do what I have to do, and this is what I have to do." He spoke the last part with a hard voice, a commanding edge.

"And if Slade comes?" Cyborg pointed out.

Robin looked him dead in the eye. "Then she's out."


	7. Chapter 7

My eyeballs were baking. Someone had struck a match, threw it into my eye sockets, and now they were alight, burning brilliantly, a supernova erupting in my face. It burned, God damn, it burned! What was happening? Someone stop, please make it stop, please, put the fire out, I can't take it! It hurts, my face, it's melting, where's my skin? All I feel is bone, the bone is shimmering with the ruby waves of blood that cascade from its white surface, oh please, Robin, make it stop, please, Robin—

"Robin!" I gasped softly, ever so softly, and my eyelids flew open. No fire was there. The only heat was the low, dull warmth of the sun searing through the massive windows that unfolded before me. It poured into my irises, the dot of my tired pupils shriveled in distaste. What time was it, anyway? There was no clock—only a flawless view of Jump City that could've belonged to a post card.

And, as long as I was asking questions, where was I? More importantly, where was Slade? Shit, he was going to murder me if I'd missed anything.

I peeled my head away from the surface beneath me. My forehead was slightly slicked with a cold, frightened sweat, and as my elbow moved to support my weight, I recognized a large couch expanding beneath me. It was curved slightly, a half-ring. Damn, and it was comfortable, let me tell you. This was the nicest sofa I'd ever seen! Man, it molded to my body, I could trace my fingers through the curves that my hips and shoulders had dug into the cushions. A petty thief, I was not, but I'd stoop that low to get me some of this luxury. Like honestly, it was perfect, so bouncy and cozy and black and sleek and just down-right impressive—

Okay, Bailey, enough with the couch. Where the hell was I?

My eyes took to peeping over the back of the sofa. An island for eating, cabinets, mechanical panels, stairs, doors with no handles; that summed up the scene before me. It was sickeningly clean. Not even dust motes twirled lazily in the morning sunlight that kissed the tops of the trees and skipped into the room (and woke me up from a very nice slumber, mind you).

Well, no sense in lazing around, I figured it was time to get to learning my surroundings. If I was ever going to escape from wherever-the-hell-I-was, then I'd better get cracking. My feet slipped to the floor, my socks hit the carpet, and I stood.

A blanket cascaded to the floor. It was large, red, an R sewn in yellow into the right hand corner of it.

Um…now, if I remembered correctly, that emblem was slightly iconic…

I was panicking now. My tummy dropped into my intestines, and they had a dance-off. No, no, no I couldn't be there. That was not where I was. I simply…I simply wasn't. I was dreaming. Yes, I was dreaming, I had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation. I mean, come on, they wouldn't be dumb enough to…to bring me _there_. No way! I could trash the place, do anything I wanted, could steal valuable information. I could steal their _couch_!

Someone, someone, I needed to find someone, my feet took off into a dead sprint. The doors parted for me, but not quite fast enough, and my shoulder nicked the side of one, but I didn't care. Get out the way, everyone, because I was coming through. And I _would_ maul you down.

Hallway, hallway, hallway, hallway, turn right, hallway, hallway, turn left, hallway, God, who needed all these fucking hallways? It was a maze, a maze that I was about to nuke any second with the grenades tucked away safely in my utility belt beneath my outfit. I wasn't getting tired, not in the least, but I was getting sick of the winding passageways that led absolutely nowhere. It was eerie; not even the floor beneath me whined in protest when I pattered over it. Not a sound was made, save for perhaps the whoosh of air that dove out of my way. I couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

Turned a corner—

Aha! Finally! Stairs…okay, cool, where did they lead to? Literally, who needed all these things that led to nowhere? I refused to ascend them. They'd probably just deposit me at the top of the ceiling, making me look like an idiot, I bet it was a booby trap! Hah! Good try, Titans, but I wasn't falling for that one!

…But I was curious. So I thudded up the stairs anxiously. A door with a teeny tiny latch shielded the top, and I unhooked it quietly, opened it with the thickest sense of care that could be laid upon my actions. Once I'd gotten it open, sunlight dribbled down to puddle at the bottom of the staircase. Sky, endless sky greeted me, was I going to step into the ocean without a cloud? Was I going to step into it, fall through, meet God, be sent back to hell for being a little bitch for longer than I could remember? I scrambled upward, onto the hard surface, eager to see.

No, but this…this appeared to be the roof. Were the steps really _that_ useless? I stood to my full height, and though the panoramic view of the city was pretty, I really couldn't care less. I mean…I'd seen it before. Slade's lair was exactly like that, perhaps even more beautiful, more picturesque.

"Ah!" someone grunted loudly. I squealed, whipped around, ready to lash out, my body was tensed with the anticipation of a serious beat-down.

There, at the far end of the cement expanse, was Robin.

I began to flat-out fly toward him.

He was beating the crap out of something, that much I could see. As I approached, a punching bag skewered by a forgiving metal pole was receiving a thrashing. He struck it, and it would lean backward, lazily and uninjured, only to be shoved backward again the second it resurfaced. His legs, his arms, his entire body was all a blur, a mess of limbs that only wanted to harm, only wanted to hurt, he was a machine. I could watch his gears turn, ready to kill if he needed to, defending anything and everything, nothing would stand in his way. Even his cape gave him a nice, wide birth.

"Ah!" he cried out again, snapped his foot out in a kick. "Rah-ah! Ah! Uh-hah!"

He hadn't heard me come, even when I skipped to a stop. He was absorbed in whooping the oversized-bean-bag's ass to notice me. If I really wanted to, I could've taken him down. If I wanted to, I could've slammed my hand into his neck, could've rammed my fingers into a vital pressure point and made him collapse at my feet, an unconscious heap. I could've reached out, grabbed his shoulder, jerked him around—and kissed him, if I wanted to. He was vulnerable, distracted.

"Robin?" I choked. He darted around to face me, on guard, on point, but receded the second he saw me. In fact, everything melted; he looked utterly carefree when his bemasked orbs pinned their attention upon my forehead, upon my breast, everywhere he could've glanced unbeknownst to me.

"You're awake, I see," he commented, and though he was at ease, he didn't smile.

"Where am I?" I demanded, yes, demanded, I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. I couldn't let him stop me, couldn't let my awe of him rob me blind. Letting his mussed, sweaty presence get to me wouldn't do me any good. Sure, watching a single bead of perspiration slither down his temple, slip off his chin, outlining the strands of his luscious hair plastered to his forehead would be nice. But it wouldn't get me anywhere. Imagining him as a hot, sweaty, delicious mess wouldn't forward my escape plan, not one bit.

Although it could be something to bust out next time Slade decided to…

Oh God, ew! What did I just think?

"Titan's Tower," he wiped his glove across his forehead. God, he really was tempting. "But I'm confident that you figured that out for yourself."

"Why am I here?" he was right, I did figure it out for myself. I prayed, I begged, I pleaded for it not to be true, but I guess that's what I deserved. Karma was certainly getting the better of me lately.

His mask looked me dead, straight in the eye. "I couldn't just leave you there."

"Yes you could've!" I shot back, a little louder now, but he was being stupid. "Yeah, that was _actually_ a choice. You could've let me go back to Slade, back to my life, but nooo, you _had_ to be Mr. Super Hero. You know what Slade's going to do to me now? He's going to—"

"He's not going to do anything to you because he's not getting near you," Robin planted his hands on his hips, looking a tad bit offended.

"No, no, I don't think you understand," I shook a finger at him. I was getting angry, really angry, really frustrated. Why…what the hell was I even doing here? I just wanted to go home, I didn't want to be here, I couldn't deal with this. How could he do this to me? How could he risk my life right here? I couldn't be there, this was deadly, I could get cut right about now. Slade, I needed to go back, I needed…I need…I…

"What is there to understand?" he asked calmly. His placidity was pissing me off big time.

"That I can't stay here!" I insisted, throwing my arms into the air. "I can't be here at all, I need to leave! I could die being here, and I know you get that." I looked at him critically. "You know him almost as well as I do."

His lips pressed together in a slim, hard line, one that screamed of non-compromise. "I do. And we have the means to protect you."

"No, Robin," I shoved my face in my hands. I knew I was being an ungrateful bitch; I could hear it in the whine of my voice, the tone of my complaints, I probably would've backhanded myself if I was in his position. How he could remain so calm was beyond me. Maybe his patience had been lengthened by the confused nature of Starfire and her nagging questions every thirty seconds. Yeah, maybe that was it.

I tried to compose myself out of being a brat. "I can't stay here. I'll hurt you all."

"You're being dramatic," he responded to my change in attitude, he was far softer and more comforting than simply rebuffing my rants.

"But I'm not," I said quietly, looked up at him from above my fingertips. "I'm not being dramatic. You've seen what he does to people and…" Oh God, here went some of my dignity. "I don't want that to happen to you. I can't let that happen to you."

The smile that graced his lips was gentle and small, but sincere nonetheless. It set a sun alight in my chest and heat waves flurried through my blood. I was going to be roasted alive by my own body. I couldn't take it, couldn't stand that perfect face of his, the perfection that never ceased with every sway of his hips, every cock of his shoulder, every twitch of his expression. It was all perfect. If I stayed here any longer, if I was in his presence for too long, I wouldn't be able to leave. I wouldn't be able to give up the way he made my tummy squirm just by looking at me.

I had to get out of here now.

"I appreciate your concern," he told me. "But you're underestimating our abilities here. Slade won't lay a finger on you; I'll make sure of that."

No, no, no, Robin, you don't understand! Why are you not getting this? He couldn't seem to see that I didn't want to put him in harm's way in the least bit. The confidence he felt for his team, for his home, for himself was tarnishing his reasoning, that had to be what was happening. He couldn't just be so dense that he couldn't hear what I was saying. He was smart, he was _brilliant_, so he had to be able to comprehend the words I was speaking. I was speaking English, if I remember correctly. It was either me or him, and I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, but then I couldn't see what was blocking the transmission on his part.

So…we pretty much were going to get nowhere. Good to know.

Perhaps this was a pointless battle for right now. Maybe it was stupid to try and convince him at this moment in time because clearly, no progress was being made. I appraised him for a moment, two moments, but then gave in for the time being. I would spring it on him later, when he least expected it. Yeah, yeah, that's good, waylay him, be like _BOING_ "haysup"?

I sighed. He accepted my concession.

"Come on," he placed a palm on my shoulder and guided me back to where I'd come from. I honestly almost peed myself, he felt so warm, his touch was so invigorating. The icy winter wind that snarled and gnashed at my bare neck seemed to disappear, evaporate with the heat that splayed from his skin, even through his gloves. It boiled in my veins, my blood was growing thick with the warm feeling, I felt tipsy, drunk with his contact. I was going to pass out. The second we got to the opening to the stairs, I was going to fall to my death, crash with the floor below, and then they wouldn't have to worry anymore. Their fears would be non-existent, because I would be non-existent.

"Breakfast is waiting," Robin was saying, and he didn't remove himself from me. "And Cyborg makes some mean pancakes."

Pancakes. Who needed pancakes? The smell that assailed my nostrils was even better than stupid old pancakes, and as the doors parted with the typical _woosh_, my stomach snarled.

Someone was cooking some waffles.

I fucking loved waffles.

There was so much commotion when the doors peeled back to reveal the common room. Beast Boy, Starfire, and Raven were seated around the island. The green boy was looking grumpily at the metallic man as he tore some long, stringy slices of white substance and dangled them over a frying pan before plopping them in. They sizzled, growled, snarled, snapped, but it didn't smell too bad. Raven was delicately swirling a liquid around in a thick mug with a long spoon, staring disinterestedly at the argument before her, while Starfire was giggling and eyeing the waffle batter expectantly. The shimmer in her lovely green eyes was clearly happy, she was blissful, how was she always in such good humor?

The bustling action immediately stopped when we entered.

It all fell quiet. Each pair of eyes was on us as we stood on the threshold. I was probably the one holding us back, not quite sure what to do, how to proceed, Jesus, it looked like they wanted to kill us. Daggers were plummeting into me, slicing me to bits. My blood should've been pouring down my chest by now, but instead it graciously saved that for another day, allowed me to be tortured more. I'd never seen, never felt such disapproval, not even from Slade.

But Robin, ever the gentleman, coaxed me forward. He descended the steps first, and I followed close on his heels, certain that if I allowed too much space between us that a barrier would be created. He would be accepted. I would not be.

We battled through the thick, menacing quiet, and he hopped up onto one of the stools. I slipped, like a snake, into the one next to him, farthest from anyone in the group. The only sound to permeate the room was the snarling of whatever-the-hell was in the frying pan that Beast Boy was tending to, but no one paid any attention to anything but us.

Great welcome, you guys. Maybe they thought that I wanted to be there.

The second I sat, Raven got up and walked out of the room. Her cup was steaming, and I assumed that she was cradling a nest of tea, but I couldn't be sure, she didn't give me enough time to figure it out. She simply stood and floated up the steps, out of the common area. I felt horrible.

"Morning, guys," Robin faux-chirped. Oh God, that was not helping. The intensity of the death stare that Starfire was giving the two of us kicked up a notch when he spoke. Hostility resonated from every pore of her being, she was throwing axes and knives and swords and grenades and nuclear bombs at me in her mind. I could feel all of them penetrate me, explode inside me, dive into my body and slice me open to reveal all of my intentions and everything I'd ever wanted to apologize for. She hated me. The green in her eyes was not just envy; it was steely hate.

No one responded. No one dared say anything. The two boys went back to their work studiously, pretending I wasn't there, but the girl just kept on glaring at me. The scowl on her face made me shiver, shudder, I was honestly quaking in my boots. It wasn't that I was afraid of her right now, here; if she wanted to go, I would've thrown down immediately. It was just more of the fact that she could've and probably would've very well killed me in my sleep.

"Stop it, Star," apparently Boy Wonder caught on. He was leaning toward her slightly, whispering very softly, so softly I thought I shouldn't have heard it, but Slade taught me to enhance my ears. The alien gaped at him for a moment, her jaw barely slack, and then wasted no time in taking flight, anger and hurt pouring from her, and busting it out of there, off to her own abode.

Man, do I know how to clear a room, or what?

My fingers were trying to strangle each other in my lap, and I watched them intently. I wouldn't look up, not if someone paid me, for if I did, I probably would've seen the barrel of Cyborg's sonic cannon pointed right in between my eyes.

But instead, a metal hand simply laid a plate of steaming waffles in front of me. I slowly, cautiously, jerked my head up, and my eyes met his, so warm and brown. The way he looked at me, I could feel it, could feel everything he was thinking simply in one sweep of his gaze. No, he certainly wasn't happy about me being here, and he would've much rather me simply disappear, melt into the oxygen around me. But as long as I was there, as long as Robin allowed me to be under the roof, as long as none of them were in danger, he supposed he could deal with me.

A small smile edged onto his broad, jovial mouth.

I couldn't figure out what to say.

He ducked down, rustled around in a drawer, and extracted something.

"Here," he offered me a metal fork and knife. "You use these to eat 'em." I reached out sluggishly and plucked them from his palm, half afraid that he would snap his fingers around my hand and break it into a million, trillion pieces. But he didn't. He just watched me impale the food, slip my knife through it with caution—I was honestly afraid that there was a nice marbling of poison through that thing—and slowly, ever so slowly, tuck it away between my lips.

When it hit my tongue, I gasped.

"Holy shit," I clapped my hand over my mouth, my eyes bugging wide.

"What?" Robin demanded, and I could feel the tenseness resonating from him. He would kill Cyborg any second, if that's what it entailed.

"These are freaking amazing," I stared at the be-masked boy, utterly struck with complete wonder, I couldn't believe how perfect and flawless these things were. It'd been a while since I'd had really, truly incredible food, as Slade wasn't exactly a chef extraordinaire. I was fed decently, but this…this was bizarre. I'd never had food this good in my entire life.

"What can I say?" Cyborg was beaming as Robin relaxed back into the stool, ravaged his own plate of awesomeness. "Momma taught me well."

Did she ever! Gosh, I couldn't tell you how much I was shoveling down my throat then. I wish I'd had a backhoe; that would've made it easier. Just dump it into my mouth and I would've swallowed it—that's just how I ate. I looked like a ravenous pack of wolves whenever I consumed anything, and now was no different. It was a shocker that there wasn't waffle shrapnel everywhere, but I wanted each and every bite of that delicacy on my tongue.

"Hey, you may want to slow down," the captain recommended. "You could make yourself sick."

"Good," someone snarled. Then, I watched Beast Boy slink quickly toward the door, a plate of white bacon-looking stuff in his grasp.

"Hey!" Cyborg called after him, trotted in his wake, and the green boy sped up his pace of escape. "What was that? Get back here, you booger!" And those two evacuated the room. At least I was on better terms with one than the other.

I forced the load of fluffy batter down my throat. It felt more like torture now then delectable, but I shoved it into my stomach. "I need to leave, Robin."

"Don't worry about them," Robin insisted, and awkwardly hesitated before deciding to rub my shoulder comfortingly. "They'll come around. Beast Boy just…he doesn't like people, that's all. And neither does Raven, which I'm sure is no surprise, and Starfire…well…uh…"

I looked at him dubiously. He was spewing such bullshit right now. Beast Boy loved people, especially those that gave him attention. I was aware that Raven didn't like people, so it didn't sting too much when she'd left, but Starfire…he couldn't even come up with an excuse for her. That's how bad it was. There was no gracious saving grace he could provide me with to clear her name. I didn't want him to even try.

"I can't be tearing your team apart," I told him solemnly, and I knew that was exactly what I was doing. Hell, if I was in Robin's position, I would've kicked me out on my ass so quickly that it wouldn't have time to bruise. I would be out in the cold in under thirty seconds if this was what my team's response was. This was messed up. He couldn't keep me here.

"They'll get used to it," he assured me again. "I promise."

"I don't want them to have to get used to it," I said as I stared at him desperately. "I can't blame them for hating me. I've tried to kill them how many times?—"

"Because Slade ordered you to," he interjected vehemently.

"But I still tried."

"Because you had to."

"That doesn't excuse the fact!"

"Yes it does."

Wow. Robin was pretty much pardoning me for going after his teammates, going after his family. He was basically letting me off the hook.

…What was going on here?

"Here, let me show you to your room," he slipped off the seat, his metal shoes clacked to the floor, and he started off. I sat there dumbly. What was I supposed to do? What I if I went with him? What if I followed? How could I follow Robin? My enemy, my foe, my Robin? My disaster, my complete and utter disaster, how could I follow him? Nothing good could happen, nothing good could come from that perfect disaster in green tights. That spiky hair, that sweet face, that skin like butter—no, no, something was wrong, he couldn't be like this, we were enemies. He knew we were, I knew we were, what was missing here?

"You…you got me a room?" I choked.

From the second step, he turned and grinned at me. "Of course."

My breath stopped for a moment.

I hopped off the stool, crept closer to him, I could feel his heat as I neared him. Perhaps my vision started to blur a little bit, maybe my stomach twisted disgustingly, how could he do this to me? I'd never reacted to anything like this before. I'd always had a psych of steel. I'd _killed_ people before, damn it, I'd done so many horrible things, I'd seen literal pools of blood, I'd seen dismembered body parts, I'd…I…how did he do this? How could he do this?

Robin just continued easily through the doors with his back to me. He was vulnerable. I could kill him now, I could end everything now, I could escape, I could be free I could go back to Slade I could get what I wanted.

And all I noticed was that he had an awfully cute butt.

I was just down the hall from his room, it seemed, because his name was carved into the metal door. It looked so cold, so formal, everything he was. But I saw nothing of that in him. It was the strangest thing, I must say; I saw how he was, but I saw everything else, too. He had other stuff, things that no one else got to witness, and even when he was being his usual self towards me, I could glimpse other things. He was warm. He was sweet. He was kind. He could be casual, he could be simple, he didn't have to over-complicate things all the time. There were quite a few sides to this Boy Wonder, and I pondered how I could peek at them so easily.

The door to my room was blank. How fitting. But when it slipped open, my heart warmed.

It was the most perfect little place ever.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly little. But I could deal with that. I could deal with the high ceiling. I could deal with the long, king-sized bed with the white lace canopy. I could deal with the big fireplace at the far wall. I could deal with the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ice-coated waters. I could deal with the huge closet that was hidden behind a single door. I could deal with this actually being the smallest of all the rooms.

Yeah, I could deal with all that.

Robin glanced over his shoulder at me, a proud smile on his flawless face. "You can go in, you know. It's yours."

It was mine?

"It's mine?" I tested it on my tongue. It didn't burn as much as I thought it would. I slipped into the room—the white area rug was a welcome warmth from the small straight of hardwood that separated the door and the bed—and scuttled toward the mattress. When I sat down on it, the thing bowed only slightly beneath my weight, it felt like a cloud, I would sleep just fine here. The chair that was in front of the fireplace raging with heat, that would be just fine. The cozy feeling of it all, the feeling of being welcomed, that would be just fine.

It was mine?

It was mine.

**A/N: …Holy shit. I'm alive? No way! Crazy! Damn guys sorry it took so long. Like literally, I'm very sorry. It' just been a hell of a…well, it's been a hell of a few months. Seriously, I didn't mean to do that. I know I don't have too many readers, but still, for those of you that do read, it was radically unfair. I'll try to be better.**

**Also, major thanks to EthanPrime21 for calling my story good XD. I KNOW SERIOUSLY there are no RobinxOC stories at all! **

**SHIT MY FUCKING S KEY BROKE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Before I start, just a suggestion: you may want to reread the story to remember where we are :) Reviews would be lovely! AFTER TWO STINKING YEARS HERE WE GO**

She had been sleeping for three days.

It couldn't have been three days straight. He wouldn't categorize that as sleeping; that was more akin to a coma. But every time he had entered her room, she would be curled up like a garden hose with her jaw slack in unconsciousness. She never stirred, not unless he awoke her. Normally he would split her curtains to split her slumber, allow the glow of the afternoon to puddle on her eyes so no matter how she willed herself, no sleep would be found. He didn't know what her purpose at Titans Tower was just yet, but it certainly was not to indulge in luxuries, like endless naps.

But Robin's first attempt at rousing her was the epitome of fruitless. The door had slid open for him with an audible release of air, but she had not even breathed at the disruption. In fact, her breathing was hardly visible; the sheets that she'd carefully burrowed into did not rise nor fall. She appeared mummified within the white linen.

He bent over, his hand finding her shoulder.

"Bailey," the sheets hissed crisply as he rubbed. It was as though he hadn't touched her at all.

"Bailey?" he slipped his fingers beneath her cheek and coaxed her face to turn toward him. Now her eyelids fluttered, offering glimpses of muddy moons, but it seemed she couldn't find purchase as she struggled for consciousness. She slid right back under in his very palm.

After an uncertain beat, he laid her head back upon the pillow. That was…odd. Certainly a bit unnerving. But if the past days had been stressful at all to the Titans, he couldn't imagine the toll it had taken on her. The anxiety that cracked her at even the thought of being forcibly separated from Slade had made her fingers tremble with fear—although he had yet to deduce whether she trembled from fear of separation or fear of his deadly hand upon her return. The former kicked up a bitter taste in his throat.

Regardless, he let her rest.

Day two had long since broken before he decided to check her. Bailey had not moved from the position of the previous day. Her knees were loosely tucked into her ribs and her fingers were raised foothills beneath the sheet as it was curled into her fist. But peaceful sleep didn't slacken her cheeks; this was a state of sheer unconsciousness that made him swear she was under some sort of anesthetic.

Robin's lips tucked into a line as he sat on the edge of her bed and, with a deft hand, brushed stray locks of her golden hair away from her neck. The skin there was so pale, it boasted the outline of a vein. Never before had he ever imagined this vicious, heartless machine could look so frail and vulnerable.

Well, almost heartless.

"Bailey?" he murmured, and he didn't mean for his voice to sound so sweet but he supposed he simply couldn't help it. He had a way of reducing to nothing but a bottle of pop for her.

Her eyes cracked like a morning egg.

"Five o'clock training am I late?!" she screamed, suddenly heaving herself upwards and her eyes wide with panic. There was a certain emptiness to them, though; Robin could see her consciousness had not fully come round. He leapt from the side of her bed and planted his hands on her shoulders. With ease, he forced her back down to her back, though she was clearly struggling with all she could muster. His right leg slung over her hips and with his knees, he pinned her flailing legs together and moved his vice grip to her biceps.

Her limps were utterly limp. He could feel the muscles rippling beneath his clutch, but it appeared that she simply lacked the energy to spark them.

Just how overworked was she?

"Calm down, calm down," he muttered to her, and he kept his voice nice and quiet to not rouse anymore terror. Yet her eyes remained like plates as her struggles ebbed. "Go back to sleep. Sleep. Time to sleep."

He risked his hands to hold her face into the pillow and keep her head still, for her gaze was flying all over the room without any clear sign of consciousness in her stare. It was nauseatingly eerie. Her eyes landed upon his chest and remained, void of anything as her eyelids began to descend once more. The spastic rise and fall of her chest grew slow and measured, and before a minute had turned fresh he felt her drop into sleep again as though she'd leapt over a bridge in her mind.

Robin sighed and let his hands fall from her face to just above her shoulders, his head drooping low as he closed his eyes behind his mask. This was intensely not normal. Though Bailey had come to, it seemed her consciousness had not. Five o'clock training? What was that all about? Did…did Slade make her begin her training at five in the morning? The earliest Robin had ever mandated was eight thirty. Bedtimes were rather strict around here; no activity was allowed past midnight. It seemed childish, but the Titans knew that sleep was essential for them to be on their toes. It was what kept them alert and agile. Sleep was basically survival.

How long was Slade keeping her awake? How hard was he driving her?

He let his lids slide open, and he noticed that Bailey was still cocooned in her suit. Up close it was of nice material, a slightly reflective black that appeared to be nothing more than a second layer of skin. Theoretically it should have been suffocating, but in practice it appeared to hinder her movements the least out of any garment imaginable. It seemed breathable as well. The material was scuffed and ripped from the rescue operation not five days ago, but it was holding its shape perfectly.

With a silent slam, he realized it held her shape perfectly as well. Robin's breath began to quicken as his sight traveled. It eased along her waist, swerved out with her hips, and then slipped further south, down her legs, and then he saw his own knee. Here he was, straddling her, perfectly positioned above her. His shoulders reflected hers, his chest, his stomach, and most importantly his hips stared directly back at hers. It was such a compromising position, and yet he felt powerful and in control, his back tense and strong and she was beautiful and dangerous and yet they were so clearly cut for each other—

Robin felt a gentle tautness in his spandex.

Not allowing another moment, he jumped off of the bed and strode out of the room without a backward glance.

But that was yesterday. Today he was utterly in control. Of _all _impulses.

"Raven," he stood from the couch, crossed in front of the TV screen, and walked around the back of it, raising a holler of frustration from Beast Boy as he slammed his thumbs onto the video game controller. Cyborg and he were having it out, but Robin had been miles away. Raven looked up from her book that was perched on the breakfast bar.

"Can you help me for a minute?" he stood before her, and he felt so very vulnerable. He felt that he was treading thin ice with everyone on the team, and this was certainly going to be no help.

"With…what?" she asked carefully. He watched the suspicion color her pale cheeks.

He heaved a sigh. There was no point in lying to her. She would be able to tell. "Bailey's been sleeping for three days straight. I need you to tell me if there's anything wrong with her."

She wasn't even able to move her mouth before Beast Boy called over his shoulder, "Hopefully she's dead!" He was rewarded for this by a strong punch in the arm by Cyborg. "OW! What was that for?!"

"Shut it. She ain't done nothin' to you."

Plastic clattered to the floor. Robin winced. This wasn't going to end well.

"She's done nothing to me?!" Beast Boy yelled, and Robin knew he was getting in Cyborg's face but he didn't want to turn around and actually see it. "Where have you been the past month?!"

"Since she's been here, you ain't gotten one scratch on you, and it's been silent in Jump City. What you got to complain about?!"

"She's using air!"

"Oh, now you're just being dramatic."

"I cannot _believe _you!" And with that Beast Boy stormed out. Robin could feel the heated anger he was throwing directly at him as he blustered.

Raven first stared into Robin's face and then silently stood and ascended up the stairs. As he followed her, he paused at the top of the three steps, gaze cast low, but he didn't turn. For a moment, he let his feet dip into the placid pool of appreciation that resided in the pit of his stomach for the electronic man. Someone wasn't starkly against him. He needed that.

"Thank you," he said gently to the air before him. He knew Cyborg heard him. With that, the doors slid open and he strode into the hall.

Raven was standing over Bailey with her palm to the girl's forehead, eyes closed in concentration. Robin tried his best to enter the room as silently as possible and stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded. Today, she was lying flat on her back, arms and legs neatly laid perfectly beside each other. She didn't look so lost in unconsciousness today; she merely looked peaceful. That must've been a good sign, right?

"She's fine," Raven's massive violet eyes met Robin's bemasked ones. "She's exhausted. Her live energy is moving normally, though."

"She'll need food and water when she wakes up," Robin commented. He saw her jaw tense, though nothing in her expression gave anything away. "You don't like her either."

Raven was quiet for a long moment. Her gaze returned to the still body in the bed, but she did fold her lips into a line as she considered her words. But then she sighed, and he had never seen her look wearier in the entire time that he'd known her. Her carved features borderlined sadness, but when she spoke, her voice was hard and steady and quiet. The typical Raven.

"This girl is not evil. I can't say if she's good, but she is nowhere near evil. I don't know what she's gotten herself mixed up in, or how she found Slade. All I know is that there is no blackness in her. Regardless, she is tearing this team apart. And not very slowly, I might add. I trust you simply because I know she means no harm acting on her own. But there is no way to convince the others of this, and they have every right to hate her to the core. I refuse to get in the middle of this."

"No one is asking you to," Robin muttered softly. "But…thank you." He had never heard her speak more at once, and her words were ones that he desperately needed to hear. Immediately his nerves grew dim and he felt less like a live wire than he had in the past five days. She wasn't evil. She wasn't evil.

She wasn't evil.

Raven nodded and excused herself from the room. Bailey had not stirred once, but her breath was far smoother than it had been three days ago. She looked so fine, so untouched by life and toil and strife that it was all he could do to restrain himself from kissing her delicately on the forehead simply for looking so pure. When she was awake, her skin was creased with doubt and anger and fear and regret. At first glance, it all worked together to appear as determination. But now, now that he had seen the direct opposite of that, he knew better.

A rare smile creaked across his lips. For her.

He left the room.

A desert had unleashed its full power upon his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of his glove to make sure he wasn't actually chewing on cotton balls and he was simply just thirsty beyond belief. Sleep clouded his masked eyes, and he felt his lids at half-mast as he shuffled toward the kitchen area. He could afford to be so unguarded; Titans Tower had impeccable security, a system so spectacularly and meticulously designed by the resident machine man that even Robin felt he could fall into a restoring rest.

For this reason, Robin merely wondered who could be making the noises beyond the sliding doors as he approached them. Who was his companion in consciousness this late at night?

The doors whooshed apart and he ruptured the navy night by flicking on the light. The room glowed and he winced, but there was no way he would be able to find a cup in the dark without knocking over everything that surrounded it and maybe even busting the sink for good measure.

Robin's senses combusted when he saw that no one was there.

He didn't dare move. His muscles were wound and he felt them, tense and sturdy, beneath his skin. With all his might, he focused every last shard of energy he had on this room, in this moment, on anything that seemed vaguely or inconspicuously out of the ordinary.

Faster than thought, he ripped out his fighting staff from his belt and launched it directly toward where he was certain he heard butterfly-like breathing—just behind the breakfast bar. The metal rod stuck in the cupboards beneath the counter and it shuttered for a few moments before falling still. The room was waiting, watching, there had been life in here not seconds prior and there was no way it was just…absent now.

A meek, timid Bailey popped her head up from beneath the island, eyes round and questioning and scared.

"Bailey?" he was incredulous. Last he'd seen her, she was passed out.

"Sorry," she stood nervously to her full height, raising one hand in what appeared to be an awkward greeting. "I just…never mind, I'm so sorry—"

He had descended the stairs and was now blocking her path from leaving the kitchen to return to her room, which she so desperately wanted to do that she seriously considered jumping over him to reach this destination.

"Hey, calm down," Robin was having none of her departure. "What's wrong? It's two in the morning." Just then, another very disturbing and very pressing thought came to his mind. "It's dangerous to be wandering around on your own when you're Slade's target. Actually, now that I think about it, it's dangerous for you to be on your own at all—"

"Really, I'm fine," she took a step back. They were too close for her liking. She couldn't think straight with him in such proximity. "I was…just…_really_ hungry…"

He paused for a moment before grinning gently. "Well, you chose quite the hour to finally wake up, Sleeping Beauty." He ducked his head into the freezer, and before she could see what the hell he was doing, he'd tossed a bucket of chocolate ice cream and a spoon onto the countertop. "Have at it."

Bailey only stared at it, her lower lip slipping beneath her teeth. Both of the items before her looked so offending, so indulgent, and she didn't feel like she could take any liberties here. She was not just a stranger to this home, but she was an enemy to the family living within its walls. She did not belong here. She was unwelcomed, and she could smell the stench of revulsion palpitating in the air with every moment she dared rob them of the oxygen that was rightfully theirs and so clearly not hers that it may as well have been labeled.

"You've got to stop being so afraid to eat here," Robin caught her wary gaze as he yanked the lid off of the ice cream. "You're a guest. And you need your strength."

"I'm not sure how much strength ice cream is going to give me," Bailey tried humor. She never dared venture past the clearly set boundaries with Slade; a joke too far and she could catch a shot to her throat.

But Boy Wonder smiled as he scraped the dairy free. "It's good for the soul. Come on."

He gently took hold of her wrist and slipped her spoon between her fingers.

His hand lingered against her skin for much too long, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes; not in question, but she felt her carefully constructed dam beginning to crack as her gaze caught his face. There was a tenderness there that she had never seen before, and she felt her veins begin to quiver. His face was always hard, so hard as he saw things that no one should ever have to see, and every scar it had made on his mind could be seen in his face in his drooping, frigid frown. But here, now, his cheeks were so soft.

Robin quickly released her when he'd realized his mistake and crammed his spoon in his mouth, trying to focus on the cold chocolate running over his tongue instead of the electricity that was pulsing through him, courtesy of the physical contact.

"What makes you think I have a soul?" Bailey murmured.

"Because you're debating whether or not you have one," he answered quickly. She tapped her lips lightly with the tip of the spoon for a few seconds before allowing the rumbling of her stomach to propel her hand forward.

"That doesn't mean much," she debated as she dug a mine of her own into the ice cream.

"Well, why do you say you don't?" Robin saw a very golden opportunity arising before him. She had been extremely open and vulnerable with him, so far beyond what he was expecting, and he truly felt as though she was letting him peek inside her. She had shown him slivers of fear; not in battle, never in battle, but her fear of intrusion and her fear of breaking his team. It had taken no more than a mere 48 hours for her to show that she was as far from being a machine as he was.

But he had to tread very, very carefully.

"I've done some pretty horrible things," she said quietly. Her spoon disappeared between her teeth again and she slowly suckled the chocolate contents from it. He was silent, waiting for her to go on, but it seemed as though she was walking some of her own paths in her mind.

"Why?" his voice was soft, prodding.

"He told me to."

"I don't understand how you ended up with him."

Bailey looked up to find him staring at her with intensity smeared on his cheeks. A blush began to fester in her neck and creep like magma along her skin, like the small, sad smile that brought itself to her lips. "Not all of us find a Batman when we lose our parents."

She could practically see his hackles rise. "How do you—"

"How could I not when I'm with Slade?" Slade knew much. In fact, he knew most. How he had managed to find out that bit about Robin, she had never dared to ask, but the extent of her knowledge ended at the loss of his parents and the meeting of Batman. That was as far back as he had revealed. He never offered how they died, and she didn't know if he knew that piece, but she wouldn't be surprised if he did. He had followed Robin for a while. He knew so, so much. Almost as much as he knew about her—almost. He knew every last thing about her.

She watched Robin shut down right beside her, iron doors closing over his attractive face, turning him hard again. A scowl was slowly etching itself into his thin lips. She was certain that he despised her then. Bittersweet hope that maybe he'd let her free began to rise in her chest. Surely she had soured any preference toward her that he had maybe previously cultivated.

Truly, Robin's mind was nowhere near her. In those moments of silence, he had never hated Slade more in his life.

"My parents were murdered," she offered. Bailey felt terrible; the death of his parents was not her piece to share, but her big mouth went ahead anyway. Truth be told, she wanted to hold him. As soon as it had disappeared, she craved the closeness that his open face had presented, and his arms looked awful strong as they supported him leaning on the breakfast bar. She wanted them around her, and vice versa. There was far more to this fearless, one-dimensional leader than he let on, and she wanted to see him. All of him.

Instead, she jammed the spoon in the bucket and pulled free more ice cream.

When he was quiet, she went on. "I was 10. I had just been dropped off from swim practice. My mom was in the kitchen, my dad was in the living room. Throats cut. I called 911 but…" she blinked and swallowed hard. Robin's gaze was glued to her face. "I ran away after that. I didn't stick around. I wasn't going to an orphanage, or a friend's house. That wasn't going to happen to me. So I just…beat it."

Her features were artistically composed. He didn't think he'd seen Bailey more stoic, more smooth-faced than he did right then. She'd always looked as though she had a purpose, which she did; whenever they'd met, she'd been sent to steal something, and he'd been sent to stop her. She'd been angry, she'd been surprised, she'd been torn, she'd even been scared. But now, with her eyes very much aware of the silence blossoming between them as he wordlessly asked her to continue, it was as though she had practiced this very expression. Perhaps if she kept herself together and smooth enough, her pain would slide right off.

It didn't seem like she was chomping at the bit to tell her life story. He chose his question specifically. "How did you end up with Slade?"

"He found me," her mouth almost seemed to curl up in a smile. "Some guy was talking me in an alley. He was drunk and I was young. He hit my head against a wall and I was out for a little. I never saw his face. When I finally came to, I was just…in Slade's place."

There was no day that was foggier to her.

_She staggered awake, face-down on a black sofa with her head feeling like it was about to rupture. She slowly lifted herself onto her elbows and something flung to the floor from her skull—an icepack. All she could do was stare at it, but within seconds a hand had plucked it from the floor and returned it to resting in her hair. Her eyes slid upward._

_She knew exactly who he was. The black and tan mask was unmistakable. _

_The greatest villain in Jump City was towering over her._

"_You are alone," his murmur was more of a statement than a question, but she nodded anyway. Terror was circling and raging in her throat like a hurricane, and she had to remind herself how to breathe as his soul-shattering stare busted her from the inside out. She knew from this moment on that it no longer mattered what she wanted or what she thought; she had to do exactly what he told her if she planned on living. Even a 10-year-old knew this._

_A smile dawned in his eye. "Welcome home, apprentice."_

_She watched her freedom vanish before her very eyes._

"I've never really known much else," she said quietly. "All I know is that he saved me." Her spoon slid between her lips.

In those moments of silence, Robin had never appreciated Slade more in his life.

"Did you ever think about getting out?" he asked her, but truthfully he wondered if she had ever had the slightest of chances. Knowing Slade and his paranoia, he would have the place on complete and utter lockdown at all times.

She smirked. "Wrath is a wonderful teacher."

She said no more. A fire began to brew in his stomach. He could only imagine what sort of wrath he unleashed upon her, but the fact that he had unleashed any at all had him not just ready for battle, but ready for an all-out war. There was something in her delicate face that made him cherish her without her even speaking. She was a good-looking girl, that was visible enough. It was more than that, though, something so subtle that he hadn't even bothered to fight because he simply didn't notice it; it snuck up out of nowhere and knocked him off his feet before he even had a chance to find the ground. Perhaps it was that not a summer nor a smile could be as warm as her eyes. The moment he met them, he knew she could never hurt him.

No one had ever made him feel safer than the apprentice of his arch nemesis.

But then the disappointment set in when he realized he was going to get nothing more out of her tonight. He turned the topic.

"Well, you're out now," Robin helped himself to another spoonful of ice cream. "No use worrying about the past, I guess." He tried to grasp a sense of how she wanted him to take this, and he figured he'd let the past rest. Although…he wasn't done. "Until a better time, that is."

Bailey scoffed, and though her face was dubious, her smile was rich and sweet. "You know better than anybody just how over this _isn't._"

"My team is ready for any dramatic rescue he may try to pull." Of that much, he was quite certain.

"And we all know how much you love dramatic rescues." She was smiling in earnest now, and it felt odd and out of place on her face.

His smile was broad and radiant though, and she would do anything to keep it like that. "It's a hero thing."

"You're nauseatingly optimistic."

"I have to be. How else would I be a good leader?"

Oh, did he have a point. And he was a very, very good leader. It was something Bailey adored intensely about him; he refused to question himself, he was intelligent, he was reasonable, but above all, his confidence was intoxicating. He had all the makings for a generally solid, stable person, and that enticed her more than she cared to admit. He just…seemed good for her.

Then, in a moment of daring, she felt her sass alight. "Well, now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

Robin turned to look her straight in the face, the smile disappearing.

The breath was knocked right out of her as she realized her mistake. It was right there, glaring at her: she had gotten far too comfortable far too quickly. She'd forgotten who he was. For a handful of minutes he wasn't a superhero, he wasn't her enemy, he wasn't anything. He was simply a boy that was good conversation, was actually asking about _her_, was actually showing some signs of caring for her as more than just a tool through which to operate. For a handful of minutes she had foolishly felt like she was a person, and she had foolishly felt like he was a person. Then, like a punch in the nose, he was Boy Wonder again, and she caught herself flirting with the very thing she was meant to destroy.

But just as the expression of horror at what she had just said began to overtake her features, Robin grabbed her face with both his hands and kissed her hard.

The realization came in halves. He first was almost knocked to the ground by the fact that he was kissing her. The choking satisfaction, the unspeakable sense of relief that shocked through his veins like adrenaline was enough to send him tumbling into everything that she was. His forbidden imagination was coming to life before his very fingers and thanking God didn't seem like it was enough. In this moment, he couldn't have asked for more.

But then the second half came careening from the back of his mind and almost physically shook him. This girl stood for everything he hated. As far as he was concerned, she should have been the perfect waste of space, and she should have revolted him. There was innocent blood on the hands that remained stagnant at her sides. Was this _really _why he had brought her here? Because he couldn't control his juvenile urges? Because as much as he wanted to reject the feelings, he had been swept up in her the moment he had seen her? Because he so desperately craved what he _thought _was inside this girl?

Too close. He had let this girl far too close to him.

The Titan hopped back, yanking his hands away, disgusted with himself. Bailey stared at him with eyes so wide she could catch the stars—God, those _eyes—_and her jaw loosely open in shock. She didn't look repulsed. She didn't look horrified. She didn't even look offended. She merely looked…surprised. His breath was quick and shallow as they stood, gazing at each other, silence heavier with every passing blink.

"Robin—" she reached out to him but he leapt over the breakfast bar without a word. He sped out of the room as quickly as his gait would allow, but his stride did not lack its normal power and intensity. He didn't look back. He didn't acknowledge her as he disappeared between the doors.

All Bailey could think about was how he smelled like cute boy and tasted like chocolate.

**A/N: More?**

**Hello all! It has literally been over two years since I have updated! BUT! Here I am! I am now going into my sophomore year of college and I am on summer break and I'm feeling terribly inspired so I hope to be updating more frequently now :). **

**I felt dreadful about putting this off for so long, so I felt morally obligated to throw in somewhat of a culmination of all these feels! Hope it worked well!**

**Let me know if I kept to their characters! I'm quite worried about that!**

**Reviews would obviously be lovely :)**


	9. Chapter 9

"Whoo-ee!" Cyborg wiped his forehead with a white towel he'd snatched from beside the door. "Now _that _was a good session!"

"Speak for yourself," Beast Boy muttered morosely as the rest of the Titans filed out of the weight room. He reached behind him and a tail fell into his palm, bent and crooked like an abused pipe. "My monkey tail won't be the same for a week!"

"Well you shouldn't have landed on your lil' green butt," Cyborg's smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"Hey, my butt is round and well-shaped!" He allowed his rear to morph into a baboon's and shook it at Cyborg, bending over so far as to plant his fingers on the floor. Cyborg grimaced.

"And now I'm not hungry."

"I'm starving," Robin placed his hand over his stomach at the disgruntled snarl it gave. They had been training since 10 AM and the hour was flirting with 1 PM. With sweat carving paths down their skin, they all were famished.

"Shall we order the pizza?" Starfire pitched. She seemed to be in a distinctly good mood today, and Robin cautiously chalked it up to her beating her max on the weight machine. Something in the back of his mind nagged him that the small success couldn't have been it, but he wasn't about to argue with her chipper grin. She'd been stormy enough lately with their unwanted guest. Perhaps her lack of appearance was enough to extract her typical sunshine.

"There is no _way _I am going halves with Cy again," the green boy threw a glare at his best friend. "I could taste the sausage."

"You could use the protein," he said distractedly, bringing up the phone application in his arm so they could place an order. "Anyone feelin' anything specific?"

As usual, it disintegrated into mayhem as not one of them could decide definitively. Eventually they agreed on two large cheese pizzas, but Cyborg insisted on his own medium All Meat Experience. A plan brewed in his mind—he was plotting to slip a slice or two beneath Beast Boy's pillow whenever the opportunity arose, though he couldn't quite decide if that was a waste of perfectly good pizza just yet.

He decided it wasn't a waste if it was going to extremely good use. He'd managed to smuggle a slice of his meaty delight out of the living room, and even plucked a slice of cheese from one of their boxes. It was perfectly arranged in his mind: he would put the meat slice under Beast Boy's pillow (so he could smell it, of course) and he would put the cheese slice in one of his shoes. Or in his pants. Whichever. He'd choose once he got there.

A giggle split from between his lips as he entered the hallway, his prizes on a plate in his massive hand. This was going to be way too good.

But just as the doors closed behind him and he started in the direction of Beast Boy's room, Cyborg halted in his tracks. Down the other end of the hall was her room. He hadn't seen her since he'd made her breakfast. The horror show played in quick snapshots in his mind's eye; she had looked so defeated at the shunning shoulders of everyone else. Though he'd wanted to punch her out the moment she'd entered the Tower, he rather pitied her now. In fact, a small tilt of respect whirred in his mind. She was keeping out of the way. She was making herself as scarce as possible. She was doing her best to make it seem as though she wasn't even there. As much as no one wanted her there, he suspected that she was on the same page.

It was clear she didn't belong. And instead of trying to shatter the team from the inside out, she was…hiding. As far as he knew, she wasn't concocting any schemes. Slade would have come barging in by now if he'd had any inside help from her. And they were not her friends. They clearly hated her. She had no incentive to avoid interaction with them like she was; it would have been more gratifying to her to vex them all on a daily basis. More importantly, if Robin trusted her to behave—and he hadn't seemed on edge or perturbed, just cautious and careful—then Cyborg did too. It wasn't always clear what went on in that spikey noggin of his, but he'd learned from experience that Robin had incredible intuition and a method to his madness. Nothing in his own gut was on red alert, either.

No, it appeared that the little criminal was trying her best to not rock the precarious boat she was in while she could have been doing her little criminal thing to the entire team. He appreciated it.

He looked down the hallway toward Beast Boy's room. He threw a glance over his shoulder toward her room.

Surely he would hate himself later for this. He turned on his heel and stomped in her direction, silently cursing his good nature. Since when did he get off on keeping festering villains well-nourished? A perfect prank opportunity was disintegrating before his very eyes.

Yet his gait was steady and sure.

The door opened with a hiss and Cyborg poked his head in. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but it certainly wasn't her over by the windows, her legs crossed, motionless. That was odd. What was she doing? He felt his muscles tense as he suspected that she was looking for signals or signs or literally _anything _from Slade—why else would she be staring out the window?

What was her name again? Bentley? Blake? Maybe it was Kristin?

"Hey, uh…Britney?" It was definitely a B name, he decided. She started, the sound of his rich voice penetrating deep into her mind. She'd come to recognize Robin's voice but this was almost foreign to her. She leapt to her feet and sunk into a fighting stance before she could blink, but an enormous black man simply stared back at her, his dark eye wide and suspicious as he examined her from across her room. A release washed through her body as she recognized him.

"Cyborg?" Bailey cocked her head to the side. What was he doing here? He hated her (though she'd noted not as much as the other Titans).

Wait…what did he call her?

"You, uh…" his brow was furrowed low over his gaze. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was meditating," neither one of them made a move closer to the other. She felt intimidated and anxious, almost as though she was in a stand-off. She didn't want to be in a stand-off with Cyborg. She just wanted to melt into the floorboards. "Um…did you call me Britney?"

"Ain't that your name?" he asked. He wasn't about to apologize, though. Truth be told, he didn't really care to know her name. He wasn't keen on becoming best buddies with her. But she looked inoffensive and apologetic as she stood, her shoulders hunched slightly as she instinctively bent to her assumption of inferiority. There was no one to try to intimidate; in battle, her shoulders were square and she was confident and dead-set on her target. She knew she could fight and she knew she was damn good. But this was not the battlefield, and she was in no position to be holding herself high. Again, respect nibbled at his fingertips.

"It's, uh, it's Bailey," she smiled a little, embarrassed for a reason she couldn't place. "But it doesn't matter." The last bit fled her lips of its own accord, as though on accident. To cover it up, she rushed with: "Can I help you with something?"

He sighed internally, guilty for absolutely no reason. He wasn't supposed to know her name. It didn't matter to him. So why was he feeling bad?

"Brought you some grub," Cyborg raised the plate slightly. "If you're interested."

Was she supposed to go get it? She was terrified of going any closer to him. She didn't want to feel his disgust radiate from his broad chest. That was a reason she'd kept so out of the way; clearly, she wasn't welcomed here.

"Oh…" her eyebrows skyrocketed at the kind gesture. Even if Robin had sent him, he didn't have to do this. He could have left it outside her door, given a knock or three, and been on his way. And he wasn't being aggressive or pointedly hateful. He simply approached her with caution, like she was a wild animal. He didn't trust her, not in the least, but he wasn't about to kill her. She appreciated that more than he could understand, but she wondered if it would be weird to tell him that.

She took a few steps on gooey legs before she was within range for him to place the plate in her fingers. They were so close and it shocked her. The only time she'd ever been this near to him was when she was mapping out his weak points as she went in for an attack. But here he was, giving her—pizza? Wow, she hadn't had pizza in…it seemed like forever.

"Thank you," Bailey was breathless as she looked down at the food. It smelled intoxicating. Her stomach let out a blood-curdling growl that she felt in her toes, and her hand flew to her tummy as her eyes ripped wide. Well, that was embarrassing.

A smile pulled across his face. It looked so odd. She wasn't used to seeing a Titan smile. Especially not at her. "Hungry?"

"That's one way of putting it," a grin filled with butterflies buzzed onto her lips, and she felt electrified. She so desperately wanted him to not hate her. In these small moments, in these small exchanges of kindness, she craved someone other than Robin on her side. She had felt like a waste of space for almost a week. She was a mere underling to Slade. Gobs and gobs of unworthiness rested like wet cement on her shoulders, so much so that she simply went quiet. Robin was the first to treat her as something other than a pet or scum.

Now that she was faced with the prospect, she yearned to add another.

Bailey drifted over to her bed and sat before she whispered another disgustingly sincere, "Thank you."

"No problem," jumped from his mouth before he knew what he was saying. It had actually been a bit of a problem. It had stirred a small-scale internal crisis. But nothing he couldn't get over, he begrudgingly admitted.

He was just about to turn and leave before: "Cyborg?"

He looked back in her room. Bailey's gaze was glued to the plate as her fingers anxiously picked at the edge. It made a raw _ting _as her fingernails scraped it. A dark flush colored her cheeks and she was jiggling her foot. He had never seen her so nervous. In fact, he had never seen her nervous. He felt almost awkward as she rolled various words on her tongue before deciding how to frame what she was trying to say.

"How are you?"

Cyborg blinked at her before his brow furrowed slightly. Was she…trying to make conversation? "Huh?"

"That came out wrong," she shook her head violently. "I mean like…how intrusive am I?"

He appraised her, but she did nothing more than gaze woefully at the pizza. With a huge sigh, he sat beside her on her bed and the door slid shut. Immediately she tensed, but he was seated far enough away from her that the both of them could have room for their thoughts.

"What do you think?" he offered just this as an answer. He didn't intend for the slight bite that came out with it, but regardless it sliced through the air a little.

She snorted. "That bad, huh?"

He merely shrugged. He couldn't decide if he actually wanted to be talking to her like this. It felt too friendly. His guard was up and thrumming like his baby T-Car. Her eyes met his for just a moment before she looked down again, this time at her knees; she brought them together and then split them apart randomly, a distraction.

"I begged him to let me go, you know," Bailey admitted so quietly, so shyly that he almost came very close to feeling pity for her. "I didn't want to be here. I knew no one else would want me here. And I know that he's doing his hero thing and trying to protect me from Slade, but…" her shoulders drooped lower, "…no one can. I made this choice, and I have to live or die with it. It's my problem." Suddenly her gaze locked dead with his. "Not yours."

Cyborg couldn't speak. Frantically, his mind jumped conclusions, back and forth between _this girl knows what's up _to _she's lying scum and is trying to trick me_. He knew just how dangerous this creature was. Her body was an unbelievable weapon when paired with her intuitive mind. She was deft and in tune with her surroundings, enough so that she could nearly predict her opponents' moves, and the Titans' aggressive approaches had fallen flat each time. She had just danced around them, fighting them off with deadly ease—

And that was when he realized that she could have ended them if she pleased. All she had done was push them back; if she was so inclined, she could have wasted each and every one of them.

"Why do you stay?" Cyborg asked, his voice strong and steady with an almost deadly edge to it. He was naturally hostile towards her; he didn't want to trust her, but she was making it rather hard to remain stony. And he wanted so badly to believe that Robin had made a good decision, a decision that wouldn't get the entire team blown up.

She was quiet for long moments. "I don't know."

Silence hovered, but it was not entirely uncomfortable.

"You don't like me, do you?" she was frank. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and she met his gaze straight on. The ends of her mouth were curled down but her stare was open and curious. She was no fool, but she was also not about trying to enforce her enemy status. She knew she was not a hit around here; it didn't take a psychoanalyst to be able to read the angry glares thrown her way. But she could at least try to remedy the damage she'd done as long as she was here. However long that may be.

Another thread of silence ensued.

"Gimme time," Cyborg was quick to leave the room. She may have been teetering on the line between his good and bad graces, but he had no desire to push her one way or the other. She would have to decide that on her own.

0-0-0

It had been hours since the robotic man's visit, and Bailey was growing anxious. She was completely wound up with energy to spare; the endless days of sleep sure had restored her, and the thought of throwing herself against a wall was growing very attractive simply to have something to do. Right now, she balanced on the tips of her fingers on the edge of her bed frame, her body perfectly vertical. Core pulled tight, shoulder blades apart, thighs clenched together, toes pointed, she slowly began to lower herself and then raise herself in a dangerous, trying push-up.

The door slid open with a hiss. She thought she saw a traffic light in her peripheral vision. But she knew better.

"Robin!" her head snapped toward him, and before she knew it her legs were swinging downward, plummeting her knees-first into the floor. The force of her descent rattled the walls of her room and bellowed a low _thud._ She winced. That was definitely going to hurt in no short amount of time.

"Are you okay?" he took three long strides toward her before she bounced up to her feet, rejecting weakness. Just…just rub some dirt in it. She was fine! She was…fine. Though she felt the liquid from swelling begin to pool in her kneecaps.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she smiled through her wince. "What's up?"

His face had been crafted with care and worry, but now it slipped free into a stoic mask. Indifference carved his frown as he plopped a cardboard box onto her bed. She peered over the edge to inspect its contents and was greeted with the blinding paper-white stack of…something.

Like a kitten, she cautiously reached in and pawed at the insides. A fabric so smooth and light lapped delightfully at her skin; it was the finest touch she'd ever experienced. Her fingers hooked onto it and she pulled the top garment off, and as she held it up, a brand-new body suit unfolded before her. It was completely white from the fingertips to the ends of the toes. On the ball of each ankle, a pink bulb glinted in the fading afternoon daylight, much like what could be found pinned to Raven's cloak or proud on Starfire's armor. For a long time, she'd thought it was just for decoration, but she'd grown to learn that it blinked when Robin called the Titans.

A golf ball rolled into her throat. Was…was she a Titan now? Is this what was being implied?

"You need a new one," Robin murmured. She had almost forgotten he was there. An internal crisis was raging inside her chest. If he called the Titans, would she be alerted? More importantly, would she have to answer? If she didn't accept this, what would she be saying? What was even happening?!

Bailey looked up at him, then back down at the box, and back up at him again. "I…I can't accept this."

"This isn't a choice," his voice was hard. It took her aback. He'd never treated her like that before. "Put it on."

Her spite flared. "I don't want it."

"Put it on." He was so flat and stern and unmoving, and all she wanted to do was defy him. If he was going to push her away, she was going to push right back.

"No."

Robin's face collapsed in frustration, his front cracking. He tried again, slowly this time to contain himself. "The one you're wearing is a mess." But she didn't move. He sighed harshly. "Please?"

"I'm not a Titan." It sounded more like a warning than anything else.

"No, you're not."

"So you're not my leader."

There was quiet as she stared at him. Though their locked gazes looked more like glares, general relief swept through her at his words. There were no commitment expectations for now, but she still felt tied to them. This garment wasn't hers. It was theirs. They were bestowing a gift upon her. The black body suit was the only thing she had left that was hers…other than her life. But it was tattered and slashed and dirty, and she was certain it was starting to smell. It had even begun to…itch in places.

Bailey swallowed hard, but she tucked the one in her hands around her arms. Her body heat quickly started to warm it up; the material was fine and thin, and a certain excitement started to brew in her tummy. It was like a new toy.

"Put it on," he urged but so much softer now. A bit of his dew had returned to his cheeks, and her ice began to thaw. However, she still felt like she was staring at him through a wall, like they were talking through glass.

That kiss last night had certainly shattered everything. Though the very thought of it made her toes tingle, she would have preferred it didn't happen if this was going to be the outcome. She yearned for his openness, his closeness that had seemed so readily available not twenty-four hours ago. Of course she was blindly attracted to him, but there was something else, something more, she could've sworn it was there and she didn't know what it was but him shutting down on her wasn't bringing her any closer to figuring out what the hell it was about him that sparked her blood.

Her eyes rolled without her consent.

"Leave," Bailey turned and began pulling her arms out of her suit. A smile threatened on his lips. Just before he turned to leave, her suit was rolled down her torso and he caught a significant glimpse of her smooth, sinewy back, completely bare save for her golden tresses swishing against it like his very own cape. He bustled out as fast as he could, blush seared like a tattoo on his cheeks, and he mentally kicked himself. Stupid! He had kissed her yesterday and now he was eyeballing her?!

He had _promised _himself that he would control himself _completely_. It was only as awkward as he would make it, but he needed to throw up as many walls as he possibly could. He had almost seen her as a simple person, a girl to get to know, instead of a villain.

But even Robin couldn't deny that he'd grown quite warm. Oh, he would certainly have to decide if this girl was worth this.

He waited outside her room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. His least favorite thing on earth was waiting. But she didn't take very long; soon the door eased open, and she stepped out. The sight almost seared his eyes. He felt a deep ache behind his mask as the white suit blinded like new-fallen snow. He hadn't meant for it to be that bright. At this rate, if anyone attacked her she could just angle a shoulder to the sun and stun them into submission. He almost had to throw an arm up to block the radiance.

It hugged her body in exactly the way he'd hoped, but also in the exact way he was afraid of. It stretched easily over her hips and caved along her waist in a gentle, meandering highway ride. Her walk was lithe and easy, especially in the special soles of the suit.

"It'll take a while to get used to these," she wiggled her feet. The bottoms of the suit were lined thickly, shock-absorbent and cushioning like a sneaker. They curved up over her toes and over her heel to protect her toes and lower ankle during a strike. But they also, along with the pink bulbs, added more weight to provide a point of rotation during a flip or to aid in momentum during a spin.

The suit was meticulously designed. He'd spent hours on it.

"That's what I'm after right now," Robin answered, then turned and stalked away without a word. She hesitated for long moments, quite unsure if she was supposed to follow, but ended up slinking in his shadow down the hall. All was silent except for the dull, repetitive _thunk _of his metal-lined shoes.

The elevator spat them out on a level that looked exactly like any other hallway except it was much shorter with only a single door at the end of it. When it slid away, a massive room clogged with weights and treadmills was dully lit with a few bulbs set into the ceiling. They casted an almost eerie shadow; it was a wonder that anyone could work out in here. But it seemed to do the Teen Titans just fine. Slade didn't have a big selection like this; he had a small area with specific weights to lift, ones that he could sustain. If she couldn't lift it, that was her problem, and she would simply have to find some other way to build up to that weight because he made her lift it regardless of whether or not she could. For cardio, he simply sent her running in the woods—but not without his careful surveillance.

Through the doorway on the opposite side of the room was a vast arena. There was a deck that lined the room that was made of shining hardwood, but the main floor was a thick black rubber that gave infinitesimally when she stepped on it. It relinquished enough to be kind to the joints, but not enough to alter the feel and rhythm of battle.

Suddenly, she realized: she was about to train.

Suddenly, she was very, very nervous.

Robin had already sat down and had one foot tucked into his thigh and was leaning out to hook his wrists around his extended foot. The little shit was impossibly flexible.

"Have a seat," he said quietly as he gestured for her to sit across from him. She padded over and tumbled to her rear, then lined the bottoms of her feet up in a butterfly position and bent forward to touch her forehead to her toes. She didn't have to watch his firm body bend and flex. That was a grace to her. Her mind was already screaming without the help of him distracting her.

He didn't speak to her. In fact, it seemed as though he was deliberately not looking at her. An uncomfortable quiet settled—at least, it was uncomfortable to her. She wanted to say something. She wanted to begin a conversation. She liked when he talked because he had nice things to say and nice ways of thinking. He was interesting. He fascinated her. But he was also being annoying and shutting her out and she had never been the first to bend unless Slade's will threatened to shatter her back, and right now was no different. She wanted to apologize for…whatever she _must _have done wrong because she longed to open him up again. But she didn't feel she'd done anything wrong, and therefore, the last thing she was going to do was apologize. Or break first. She never broke first.

After a few minutes of cracking, bending, stretching, and silence, Robin stood up and snapped his knuckles. "Are you ready?"

Bailey hopped to her feet. "Ready for what?"

He walked to the center of the floor as he talked. "You're going to need to continue training to keep up your skills. We're going to begin with sparring so you can regain the feel of your muscles. Get in touch with your body again." His face was almost soft as he turned and looked at her. "I know it's been a long few days. You need to get back into practice."

"What makes you think I'm out of practice?" she tried to test the waters by throwing a joke out with a smile, laying down a subtle taunt to try and provoke what she knew was there. "I can still kick your butt."

She thought she saw a grin threaten to shatter his lips, but he remained stoic. All he did was fold his mouth into a line. "Right. Let's get started."

A sigh swirled in her lungs, but Bailey just swallowed hard as she padded to the middle of the floor as well. The kiss had definitely thrown everything off. She felt foolish for wondering how she could possibly get another.

As though no time had passed, she sank into her fighting crouch. It appeared as though she'd forgotten nothing, but the way her bones creaked immediately made her nervous. She was rusty. She could feel it in her weak muscles and sweaty knees. Her mind wasn't racing to assess and she wasn't focusing. In fact, her thoughts were thoroughly distracted; she was beyond frustrated with Robin's lack of vulnerability, with the miracle that had destroyed everything.

With a cry, Robin charged, swinging a fist directly at her face. She leaned back, easing out of the way, and a small spark of relief crackled down her spine. But that was her mistake; she stopped thinking. Robin continued through with his momentum, spun on one foot, and looped the other through the air, bringing it crashing down onto her middle. He drove her straight to the floor.

Air propelled out of her lungs and her eyes bugged. Like a summary in a video game, her mistakes unrolled in her vision. She would have to think more. She would have to be a step ahead. That was the key.

The moment he drew away, she rolled to her feet again and bounced up. There was no way she was going to appear as weak as she felt. She knew she was better. She just needed to start acting like it.

Again he charged, and she ducked out of the way of his kick. She hopped over his leg sweep, dodged his following punch, but caught his elbow straight to the chest. It knocked her off her feet and the ground was unforgiving on her butt. It hurt.

_Pathetic little girl, _said a voice in her head, and the satin folds of the seething scold sounded achingly familiar, so familiar that she winced in preparation for a kick straight across the face. _You really are worthless, aren't you?_

Of course the kick never came. Slade wasn't here. Robin would never drive as deep into humiliation and punishment as Slade did. He would knock her down and then back off; he wouldn't grind her face into the rubber floor, nor send her flying into the far wall, nor try to knock her teeth out. But she could have sworn that that was what made her better. And she found small bubbles of disappointment pop in her stomach.

Looks like she would have to kick her own ass mentally.

As she climbed to her feet, she allowed the voice in. It swept through her veins and murmured into her ear, a tone so sultry and dangerous that goosebumps prickled down her back and along her flaming skin.

_You've gotten soft, _Slade chastised as she slipped into her crouch. _How disappointing. I expected better from someone I personally trained. _

With the sound of his voice it came flooding back. Robin's weak points started to flash in her eyes, his minute mistakes in breath and step glistened, her attack outlined itself effortlessly and seamlessly as he began to come toward her once more.

Now, she was sickeningly focused.

_Show him what you are, _He growled in her ear. She slanted one foot back and planted it hard. _Don't you dare let him win. Don't. You dare. Fail me._

She bent under the weight of her master but lashed out, sliding under his punch and dragging her leg into his ankle as he followed through. He lost his balance, tumbled forward, but rolled and regained his feet easily enough. Her move was far more defensive than offensive, she knew, and what she needed was an equally offensive and defensive move to put her back into her place.

Bailey immediately bent backwards with her hands on the floor just as Robin spun from the ground and launched upward, fist flying. She drove her feet into his core and heaved him over her. This time, the moment her feet hit the ground, she spun with a roundhouse kick. He had rebounded from the floor with a kick of his own, and their feet clashed mid-air.

She read ahead. They both repealed their feet and Robin threw his other one. She caught it mid-flight and grabbed his calf with her other hand. His face slipped into shock as the realization hit him, and she torked him hard, spinning him off his foot before throwing him to the ground.

He grunted as he slammed into the floor.

_Good girl, _she fought a smile as He murmured into her mind.

The sparring drew on. Battle upon battle was fought, and Bailey found herself winning most. She slipped up a few more times—Robin had five days training on her, and she'd almost forgotten what it was like to push through pain and the screaming of her muscles—but she seemed to regain herself almost completely. Her mental deftness caught up to speed, and her body appeared eager to keep up. Time and time again, she tossed Robin there and back. They would have long, grueling battles where they were equally matched for a time, but Bailey pulled it out in the end. She was remembering how to gain one, then two, then four steps on Robin.

What made Bailey so talented was she naturally adapted. Robin simply pushed his style harder and harder.

Of course, she was bound to make mistakes after nearly a week of no fighting. She threw a punch straight to his face, and he caught it with his palm. Her other fist came flying of its own accord; she had panicked. He caught that fist too.

Robin thrust both her fists behind her back so her wrists were pinned to her lower back—

And her torso was pressed right up against his.

Blood slammed in her ears as her chin tipped up and she looked him straight in the face. Sweat was paving sidewalks down his skin and his jaw was tense with clenched teeth, but his entire expression slackened as their gazes clashed. They held right where they were, crumbling in each others' body heat and heartbeats. Suddenly, they couldn't remember what they were doing or what was happening or why they were even here in the first place.

Bailey rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, pushing up slightly toward his lips. Another mistake.

He appeared to concede and lean down toward her, but his eyes pulled wide and he released her as though she had the plague. He thrust her back and stumbled away, gloved fingers deep in his black, spiky hair that she had noticed was delightfully shiny.

"Cut it out!" Robin cried. He looked genuinely angry; a flush had come to his cheeks that was more than simple exertion.

"I didn't do anything!" she wasn't going to let him throw it all on her. She knew he was confused and she knew he was frustrated with himself, but so was she. He wasn't the only one that had accidentally fallen for his enemy.

"Just…stay out of my space!" he could hear himself being unreasonably harsh, and he felt guilty as she looked at him like he had betrayed her. In a way, he had; he had invited her into his home, into his soul, and then kicked her right back out. Furthermore, she had opened up for him too, and he was rejecting that. He could only imagine how difficult it had to be for a pupil of Slade to show any sort of vulnerability, emotional or otherwise. And though neither one of them had realized just how far they were letting the other into their psyches, they had shed their hostilities. He knew he couldn't go back, not without really hurting her, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

But she was also not just a girl. She was Slade's apprentice. He couldn't throw out all the times that she'd hurt his team, how many people she'd killed, how many crimes she'd committed. Those weren't things he could simply forget because he felt like he'd found something in her, something that people dreamed about, an inexplicable connection that was nearly tangible and a soft tenderness in her eyes that saved him from himself.

The problem was that Robin had fallen in love with her and fallen in love with being a hero. And he had been a hero for so long that he didn't know how to be anything else, even normal.

"You were the one that kissed me!" she yelled back at him. The event being put into words sent him reeling, and he winced at the memory. It had felt like the greatest thing to happen to him, but he regretted it like nothing else. It had complicated things almost to the point of no return.

"That was a mistake," he snarled, and just as the words left his mouth, he had something else to regret. He may as well have slapped her across the face. But his tongue went rambling before he could think to stop it. "I'm a hero. You're a villain. This, this…whatever this is isn't going to happen. We're two totally different people and that isn't going to change and you just need to deal with it."

Oh, she looked like she was going vomit with her ashen skin and short breaths. Her eyes could've caught stars with how wide they were, and jumping off a bridge looked like a fabulous idea to him now. He truly thought she was going to cry.

He could not believe what he had just said to her.

Bailey withdrew so deeply into herself that he thought there was no hope of ever bringing her back out. He did not feel his words in his heart and he wanted to tell her that, but it was far too late. If he had pushed her away before, she was completely gone now.

"You are jumping to hefty conclusions, Robin," her voice was livid, slow, and so incredibly icy that he wanted to recoil from their driving frost. She was being painfully diplomatic and formal and he hated himself. "Don't run away with your own imagination. You know _nothing _about me. Pardon my intrusion. I swear to you, I will be gone before morning."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room. She was silent as she departed.

Robin stared at where she had been.

What the _hell _did he just do?

**A/N: More?**

**There are literally no good Robin/OC stories on here it's so depressing**

**Hopefully I can fill that void ;)**

**PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I GET THE CHARACTERS RIGHT/WRONG**


	10. Chapter 10

I stretched long and hard, my back snapping. I had been sleeping for a while; once I'd unceremoniously ended the sparring session, I dove into bed, hoping to hoard some strength. It was going to be a long night ahead of me and I could use all the rest I could get.

However, it had taken at least an hour for me to overcome the searing anger that dried even my blood to ash. I had no idea who the hell he thought he was, but I wasn't about to stick around to be Robin's whipping post while he sorted his shit out. The whole reason he'd entrapped my affections was because he'd been so nice to me. There was an undeniable chemistry, of course, but…he showed that through kindness. Robin was never kind to adversaries. Robin was vicious. Robin was ruthless.

Robin had always let me go.

But Robin was also assuming all sorts of things and proceeding to jump down my throat for them. The kiss was _his _thing. I had yet to proclaim any sort of undying love. He assumed that because he felt the way he did, I returned the feelings. Of course, I did return the feelings. And I was pretty sure that the attraction was a mutually understood thing. But that gave him no right to throw it out in the open like he owned me! He didn't get to decide how things were going to work.

The little shit was a leader, but he wasn't _my _leader. I was not a Titan, I was not a hero, and I was not his lover. He had no power over me. He had no reason or right to embarrass and insult me like he did.

Though I admittedly did want to be his lover…

Ugh, what the hell was I even doing?

I shook the thought away as I changed into a fresh suit. He had made himself perfectly clear: whatever was between us was getting between him and his hero business. He had no interest in pursuing this further. Therefore, I had no business being in the Tower.

Regretfully, I had to admit to myself that the reason I was staying in the Tower anyway had been because of Robin.

How disgusting, I thought. I was so soft. I was so weak. I was so pathetic. I was a fool to think it would ever work out in _any _way. He was my enemy; I should have destroyed him when I had the chance. I would deserve every beating Slade would give me when I returned, and I would take them with relish for being such a dunce. How dreadfully idiotic it was to run away with my emotions like I did, just like a petty little teenager. Perhaps Slade would contemplate mercy because I _was _a stupid teenage girl, and perhaps he would understand?

Yeah, and perhaps every Titan would one day fall in love with me. I really had to start cutting the idealistic bullshit.

My door slid open and I popped my head out. It was 3:47 AM, and Titan's Tower was deserted. I expected as much, but my guard was through the roof right now; I fully intended to decimate anyone that dared stray in my way. Though I was pretty sure Beast Boy, Raven, or Starfire would help me out the door…

I slithered down the hallway, trying to keep to the shadows as much as possible, but the entire corridor was pretty much a shadow so I focused on trying to be silent. Not a breath was audible and I felt safe, or as safe as I could be in enemy territory. It was comforting that I was starting to think of them as enemies again; I refused to let myself slip. I would _never _care about their opinions again. Admittedly—not without embarrassment—I had begun to plot how to win them over. Stupid, stupid, how stupid I was! How my face flamed with the very recollection of how to get on their good sides.

Damn Titans. Scum of the earth, I'm telling you.

I crept through the ceiling and out onto the roof. Stars swirled like plankton in the ocean, and I thought about making a wish on one of them but what did I have to wish for? I had only ever wished for Robin on a star—or a family—and here I was, creeping out of Titan's Tower with my tail between my legs. I supposed I could wish for mercy, but I knew that would be in vain, as Slade would take his sweet, merry time in drawing out my punishment. I hadn't fought hard enough. I had been captured in the first place. There were so many lethal mistakes littering my choices that it most likely would have been smart for me to consider not returning to him but instead disappearing into the world.

In a few long, unearthly moments, my life seemed completely worthless. I should have felt sad, but it seemed almost…logical. Of course my life was worthless. I was working for a mad man, stealing for a living and being his sex slave on the side. What was I _really _living for? The joy of breath? Was I living simply because that was the only thing I knew? My very heartbeat now seemed foolish. I was so obedient to Slade that he'd become my sole reason for existence, my sole reason for lingering.

Once upon a time, I had thought Robin was a reason, too. I blushed as I mentally admitted it because I was so beyond pathetic and embarrassing. He had Starfire anyway.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice said, and the lust, terror, and anger that it ignited within me yanked me around through sheer force of emotion. The damn traffic light stood not twenty feet for me, and I didn't even think.

I turned and broke for the edge of the Tower.

I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I didn't know if I would live or die. I didn't care either way. I wasn't suicidal; I was confident in myself enough that if there was a way to live, I would find it. But I didn't _want_ to die. I simply would have done anything to not be in the same atmosphere as him…including jumping off the top of a building.

Like an Olympic diver, I heaved from the edge, and the air felt sweet and cool against my face and the city lights were ten thousand summer fireflies ready to catch me before I fell. But I fell anyway, wind rushing to hug and hold me, I was so comforted to be away from him and so comforted to be alone though the ground was just starting to come faster and faster toward my delicate human body and my frail grip on the magic of life itself—

An arm looped around my waist, and suddenly I was jerked up faster than I had been plummeting. Before I could grasp what was happening, my back scraped against the roof I had just leapt from. Warm hands were clamped on my biceps and I was pinned down and I wanted to fight and I wanted to win but I think I'd forgotten how to struggle when a face that I'd never wanted to hurt filled my vision, looking angry and terrified at the same time as he tossed his grappling hook off to the side.

I never, ever wanted to hurt him.

"What the hell was that?!" Robin looked so scared as he glared down from his position atop me, his cheeks glowed in the thick night and I wondered what his eyes would look like now if I had peeled back his mask. But he was oh so good at keeping masks on that I think I would have lost that battle.

The emotions that boiled to the surface made me tuck my knees close to my chest and drive my feet into his sternum, launching him off of me so I could jump up. I wasn't sticking around. Never again. I began to run once more, my feet refusing to gain traction, but his fist was around my arm before I could get anywhere. How fast had he gotten up? What was all the effort for? Maybe he just wanted to follow up his slap to my face with a punch in my mouth. He would have to tie me down and drug me before I would sit still for that.

"Bailey, stop!" he cried, and with a strength I'd never seen from him he yanked me back and grabbed my other arm. Before long he had both his arms around my chest and waist, rock solid as he held my back to his torso no matter how hard I thrashed. If he wouldn't let go, then damn it, I was going to take him down with me. But he wasn't letting me get anywhere. He was steadfast.

"Let go of me!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I wanted to call out for Slade. I wanted him to help me. I wanted him to take me home and I wanted him to take me to bed and I wanted to pretend like everything he was doing was okay, just like I did before. I wanted to forget Robin existed. I wanted everything to go back to normal.

But I never got what I wanted, and I was half-afraid that Slade would actually come if I called.

"Stop, please, just listen to me!" Robin pulled and bent against my struggling but it didn't feel like I was wearing him down. I didn't care. I was going to writhe until his arms broke off if I had to.

"I've heard plenty," I grunted, and then I lunged forward as hard as I could. It brought him staggering a few steps, but he pulled me right back. I hated him for that. I hated that he was, for this moment, stronger than me. I hated that he, for this moment, had more will than me. I hated him.

And then he whispered in my ear.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

I had never heard him apologize to anyone. It simply wasn't his thing. He was far too proud a boy to deign himself. He never felt it necessary. He either didn't think he was wrong or he didn't think the person was important enough to apologize to. Either they got over it or he moved on from them. But there was never an apology. And here he was, sobbing dry apologies into my ear.

"I'm so sorry," he hissed into my hair as he pressed his nose into the side of my head. His breath was so warm against my cheek and it made me feel like spring. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so confused and I'm so sorry."

His desperation caught me so off guard that I froze and turned to look him in the face. Our gazes hadn't met for two seconds before his mouth came crashing against mine. Against my better judgment, a zing of adrenaline surged along my veins and I could have screamed. He was truly a drug. His lips lacked the chocolate decadence they had last night but they were still as sweet as ever, rough and insistent against mine as he wordlessly begged me to come back. It was so like Robin: forceful and commanding and to-the-point, but I could feel every note of his very real fear that I would flee. He was sincere and earnest and I had never felt him more vulnerable.

I twisted in his hold, wrapping my arms around his neck and grabbing him closer. His hands slid down to my waist and I think he almost fell over with enthusiasm and tentative relief. My consent to his lips was my acceptance to his apology, but I forgot to think about that before my fingers were deep into his hair and I kissed him with all I knew how. I hated to lose but this felt like winning as thrill buzzed alive down to my toes.

Robin grabbed my thighs and hitched my legs around his waist before he sunk to his knees and laid me on my back. Suddenly he was everywhere, his body heaving heat at me as he dominated me and made me forget. His cape slipped over the edge of his waist and tickled my sides and I felt his muscles rippling beneath my palms as I pulled at his back and he was panting some sweet chorus that sounded like my name but I couldn't hear it over the raging of my lust in my ears and my stomach was in knots and _he was so intense—_

He slowly drew our lips apart and I thought my heart was going to break through my ribs. He was so magnificent.

A long sigh deflated his chest. "I don't know what's happening."

I was quiet for a moment. I wanted to make him feel better, but I didn't know how. I honestly wasn't sure if anything _could _make him feel better. When he was set on something, he was inconsolable. I wasn't angry at him anymore; I'd like to say it was because he was hard to stay angry at, that he simply melted my insides and our attraction was so overpowering that he overtook my brain with my adoration for him. Or that I knew he didn't mean what he'd said and he had said some winning words that disarmed me, and he was truly, wholeheartedly cured of his inhibitions. They were both far more romantic.

Truthfully, the kiss was so intense and I was so craving him that I had just forgotten I was angry. And that was embarrassing. I promised myself I'd remember to be mad later. Though our attraction was strong and I did adore him and I _hoped _he hadn't earnestly meant what he'd said, all his inhibitions were still there and if he could avoid feeling the way he did, he would do it.

"Do you want to stop?" I offered. _Please say no, please say no, please say no. _I wasn't sure I could handle being around him if he said yes. I would have to escape.

Robin took a long look at my face before he cupped my cheek and kissed me softly once, twice, three times on the lips. He was persuasive. I hated the way he could make me crumble and forget. I hated that only his sweet mouth was needed to stop me dead in my thoughts. Not only was he a horrible person to be weak for, but he was never weak for anyone in return and we were both just fumbling around in our chests like the awkward teenagers we were.

The difference was that I had been ready to be weak for Robin. I had peeled off my guard and my defense garb with my arms out wide because his beauty was palpable and he smelled like Old Spice and all that he was hit all my weak spots.

But I wasn't sure Robin would ever be weak for anyone. His falling walls were just what he'd said it was: a mistake. A rare mental slip-up.

I didn't want to be a mistake.

"I don't know what to do," he whimpered, and his head hung so low that it almost brushed my chest. It must have been a horrifying position to be in for him; Robin _always _knew what to do. He never didn't have a plan. He was meticulous, thorough, and pre-emptive, and his quick mind assessed the situation from all sides and vantage points and plotted out strategies to match each scenario. Clearly he was more comfortable in logic, immersing himself in cold facts and battle tactics, calculating more like a computer than a boy. It was more than a little worrying, how objective he was.

Here he was. Here was Robin. He was cracked and bleeding in front of me. This was what I craved.

A surge of adoration blindsided me.

I pressed my palms to his shoulders and pushed him off me as hard as I could. Back onto his butt he fell, and I only caught a glimpse of his stricken, shocked face before I was in his lap, straddling his thighs, and kissing him so aggressively that I almost felt insecure about it. But I couldn't help myself. And I didn't try.

I think we both knew this was one of our only chances. This wasn't something that could be put on display. This wasn't something to flaunt to the Titans. This wasn't even something to be proud of. It wasn't a secret because we didn't really even know what _it _was. I certainly didn't know how to define it. I felt clumsy around him. I felt flustered and scared and nervous and jumpy and safe and warm and understood. I felt comfortable and gawky at the same time because obviously we were attracted to each other—well, at least now it was obvious—but we weren't supposed to be but I swore on what little worth-while life I had left in me, I'd never met anyone like him before and he made me feel so free that I didn't think I could regret him.

My fingers twisted into his hair as dark as the four-AM night that hung about us and I sighed as he responded. He dug his gloved fingertips into my back and pulled them down slowly, swinging in with the curve of my lower back and then back out as he crept to the top of my backside. Ever the gentleman, he hesitated right there and chose instead to hold my waist, either side clapped with his large palms.

Indeed, I felt that this would be a rare moment of intimacy between me and Boy Wonder. I wondered when the next time I would feel this unabashed flame ripping through my flesh would be.

I needed him. I so, so needed him.

My mouth slipped from his to his neck, and I took his skin between my teeth and kneaded it gently, lightly pulling my fingers through his spikey tendrils. They were thick and more than a little sticky from his gel, but that allowed for a slight tug and he certainly liked it. Robin's breathing dissolved into small gasps, I felt his chest working as one of my hands trailed downward, a naughty thing. There was nothing but care and sweetness to my touch and it wasn't accidental; I wanted him to feel as safe and adored as possible when he was with me. I thought maybe he really just needed someone to love him, someone to care about him more than anything because he had a heart as big as his pride and he needed someone to match that.

Could I be that for him?

Well…I could try.

Maybe he just needed someone to take control. He was always in charge, I thought as I bit down a little harder on his neck, and I wondered what would happen if someone took that away from him…took the pressure off…

"Bailey," he groaned, his hands tightening on the material of my body suit. How far had he gone? How experienced was he? I couldn't imagine he had any sort of knowledge beyond kissing; he was extremely professional and wouldn't have made a habit of having physical relations with his teammates. Though how would I know what sorts of things went down between Starfire and him? It wasn't exactly inconspicuous how she felt about him.

Our lips found each other's again and he lightly nipped at my lower lip. A sharp intake of breath stung my lungs and my fingers rushed their travels, finding his back beneath his cape and the broad planes of his chest and lower, over his ribs and I sat down fully in his lap—

A familiar hardness, however faint, pressed politely against my rear—

Robin moaned deep into my mouth—

I thought my chest was going to collapse—

He grabbed my face—

"Stop!" he gasped. I pulled back immediately to see blush pooling in his cheeks and a slightly embarrassed, slightly startled Robin staring at me, his mask stretched tight with how wide his eyes were. Suddenly his hands were at my ribs as he clambered out from under me. His steel boots caught multiple times on the hard surface of the roof and he stumbled and scrambled as he wriggled away. Once he'd successfully freed himself he doubled over on his hands and knees, taking breaths like he was trying to swallow the very Tower we laid on. I watched his shoulders heave, up and down up and down, as he…did something…

I immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Did I…make him physically ill?

Wow okay what were the odds that he would actually let me jump off the edge of the Tower this time?

After long moments of him almost dry-heaving—I watched in horror and was definitely ready to kill myself—he peeked at me over his shoulder. With a sigh he stood, but he was recoiled and introverted and I could read the embarrassment all over his red face.

"I'm sorry," Robin mumbled, lips tight. "I just needed to…calm down…I don't think…we were a little…it was…moving a little…fast…" he was pulling at the collar of his cape and I watched his flush creep all the way down his neck and even down his arms. It was so endearing that I wasn't sure if I wanted to squeeze him or punch him in the face.

He cleared his throat and spoke so quietly that shivers crawled along my spine. "I think we should…take our time." His hand descended before my face. A smile that could save lives softened his face like nothing I'd ever seen. There was truly something beneath the hero, a golden spirit that was capable of so much more than jumping buildings and beating the shit out of people. He was capable of so much. I wanted to find him.

My palm clapped into his, and Robin effortlessly drew me to my feet. Our chests could touch but instead I just grinned at him, surely like a goofy young girl but I couldn't control the shimmering of my soul that was clearly dewing my cheeks.

I'd never felt a flutter like this before.

"That can be managed," my voice was weak but I felt so strong, invincible.

0-0-0

It was quiet and so very bitter. The heat was busted in his wing again, and he sat on the floor, palms cupping his elbows and breath curling from the cracks in his mask. In fact, it had been the cold that had woken him up; now he wasn't able to return to sleep, nor was he able to feel his toes. His suit didn't exactly provide good insulation.

Oh, how his fingers ached. This was going to be a long night.

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared on the other side of the bars. He hadn't even heard it coming. That unnerved him. Cautiously he rose, keeping the distance of the concrete room between them.

A long silence thickened the air, and he was growing more and more anxious with each passing breath, though he didn't show it. He was as loose as ever, leaning on one leg. But his mind was wound and alert.

"Can I help you?" he drawled. There was no way this was a security guard. He would have heard him coming from a mile away, and even in the hollow glow of the mournful moon he would've been able to pick out their obscene facial hair. Apparently they were all fans of outlandish mustaches. It revolted him.

"Indeed you can," a rich, thick voice answered, and Red X knew it immediately. "Which is why I have come."

Any tenseness that had seeped into his muscles evaporated at the identity of his visitor, and he swung his muscled arms up and they folded across his chest. He smelled a deal. He liked deals. But he wasn't sure how much he liked them with Slade. "Details would be lovely."

"In due time," no mist fogged from his mask, not even when he talked, and it was completely disarming. "Patience, and all will be revealed. But not just yet."

"You're enlisting me, remember?" Red snapped. How was he supposed to be doing a job that he literally didn't know the bare minimum about? He knew Slade was crazy—obviously, considering his line of work and his ruthless demeanor—but this was a different crazy. There was something white hot beneath his tone, something that boiled his normal stone façade. He was starving for something, and he wasn't going to let anyone get in his way and he wasn't going to be taking any chances. This was excessive, even for him.

"Yes, I remember," Slade's temper began to raise its hackles. "But I think you're forgetting that you owe me for a great deal more than you're good for."

A smirk flicked onto his lips behind his mask. Ah, so that's what he was here for. "Aw, does someone miss their little sex toy? How sweet. I wouldn't expect this from you."

Slade was silent. His desire to murder the young criminal was palpable, and the convict wasn't stupid. He could practically feel the large fingers so desperate to close around his throat stealing the very life from his windpipe, and with great delight. He had broken into the jail without a sound; no one would be coming to save him. If they didn't know the danger he was in, there would be no need. He could be killed noiselessly, and Slade would know how to do it eight different ways. Oh, he had planned ahead, and his meticulousness would surely win him his coveted prize.

"What's in it for me?" Red was savoring every last moment of tormenting him. The big bad villain needed his help? Then he would have to make it worth his while, and that included handing over his pride and anything else he could think of.

"Your life," Slade snarled, but then paused. "And this."

The man threw a small sack between the bars. Red didn't even have to touch it; a happy _clink _chirped, the sounds of coins making sweet love, and he could hear the stacks of paper bills shifting amongst each other. Normally, Slade would have left it at sparing Red X's life and that would have been enough for the two of them. But he needed to positively cinch the deal, and the only way to do that was to make him an offer he couldn't refuse. The boy was a greedy little shit, worked by his own clock, and Slade respected that until he had dragged his apprentice into it. He should have been thanking his gracious stars that he still drew breath, because Slade was ready to draw the breath right out of his ribcage through his ears.

"There is more where that came from," he had regained some control, but his tone was still hard as flint. "_If _you get the job done."

Red X bent over and lifted the sack, and it was delightfully heavy and fit into his palm like a bird or an old friend or a lover's heart. With a wicked, devilish smile curling across his mouth from behind his mask, he tucked it away and looked at his employer.

"Looks like you've got yourself a deal," he jerked his jaw at the villain. "Now don't just stand there; get me out of here."

Slade vowed by what little soul he had that he would kill this boy at the end of it all. Anger caking his muscles, he slammed a small bomb onto one of the bars and within three seconds an explosion ripped his ears. Red stared at the smoke, green eyes peeled wide. He was expecting something…subtler than an eruption that could've taken both of them out if they had been too close.

"Move it," Slade barked. "Someone will have heard that."

He jumped over the smoldering remains of his bars and turned to run down the hall.

"Don't worry," Red X threw over his shoulder as almost an afterthought. "She wanted to do it." And then he went sprinting down the hall.

Oh, this kid was a dead man walking.

**A/N: More?**

**Is this three updates in one summer?! I'm on a roll ;) but I'm going back to college so I'm not quite sure how I'll be able to keep up, but I'll do my best if there's even anyone reading anymore ;)**

**AS ALWAYS, LET ME KNOW HOW I DID ON THE CHARACTERS XD :) **


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